
Book^/ 



dssi 



^\)t mickcns Hictionara. 



" As fbr the oliarities of Mr. Dickens, multiplied kindnesses which he has con* 
ferrcd upon us all, upon our children, upon people educated and uneducated, upon 
the myriads who speak our common tongue, have not you, have not I, all of us, 
reason to be thankful to this kind friend, who soothed and charmed so many 
hours, brought pleasure and sweet laughter to so many homes, made such multi- 
tudes of children happy, endowed us with such a sweet store of gracious thoughts, 
fair fancies, soft sympathies, hearty eiyoyments ? . . . I may quarrel with Mr. 
Dickens's art a thousand and a thousand times: I delight and wonder at his 
genius; I recognize in it — I speak with awe and reverence — a commission from 
that Divine Beneficence, whose blessed task we know it will one day be to wipe 
every tear from every eye. Thankfully I take my share of the feast of love and 
kindness which this gentle and generous and charitable soul has contributed 
to the happiness of the world. I take and enjoy my share, and say a benediction 
for the meal."— Thackeray. 

" Were all his books swept by some intellectual catastrophe out of the world, 
there would still exist in the world some score, at least, of people, with all whose 
ways and sayings we are more intimately acquainted than with those of our 
brothers and sisters, who would owe to him their being. While we live, and 
while our children live, Sam Weller and Dick Swiveller, Mr. Pecksniff and Mrs. 
Gamp, the Micawbers and the Squeerses, can never die. . . . They are more real 
than we are ourselves, and will outlive and outlast us as they have outlived their 
creator. This is the one proof of genius which no critic, not the most carping or 
dissatisfied, can gainaay.*' — Macbwood's Mag., vol. cix. p. 60S. 

ii 



THE 




Dickens Diction 



TO THE CHARACTERS AND PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS 
IN THE TALES OF CHARLES DICKENS 





BY 


f" 


GILBERT 


a; 




'pierce 


WITH ADDITIONS 


By WILLIAM 


A. 


WHEELER 



ILLUSTRATED 



" If he be ignorant, who would not wish to enlarge his knowledge? If he be knowing 
«vho would not willingly refresh his memory?" — Oldys 



BOSTON 
HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY 

1880 



■i^ 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 

BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., 

In the OflSce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



.: o,» 



... • • •"^*- ' 



-;^^ 




n 



:^ 



^c^-^^^^y^ 




A ciyi^ifi^^J^. ^kX 








J^uidit. 



On bringing the First Series of ^^ All the Year Round'''' to a close^ 
Mr. Dickens used these words, "It is better that every kind of 
work, honestly undertaken and discharged^ should speak for itself 
than be spoken for^ Now, as the general intent of this volume, the 
manner of its execution, and its usefulness to the reading public, 
will be sufficiently obvious on even a cursory inspection, they need 
not be " spoken for'''' here. A few facts, however, crave to be 
stated by way of explanation and acknowledgment. 

The arrangement of the names of characters under each tale is 
alphabetical J but the order in which the tales theinselves are treated 
is chronological. The latter remark, however, does not apply to the 
" Reprinted Pieces," which are put at the end of the list, as haviiig 
been originally published — in '•''Household Words''"' — at various 
dates between the years 1850 and 1856. Nor does it apply to 
" Some Uncollected Pieces^'' which, though among the earliest of 
our author's productions, are placed after all the rest, as being little 
known, and, at present, inaccessible to the majority of readers. 

Besides these, a number of other sketches and tales still remain to 
be gathered from '•^Household Words," and "All the Year Round," 
and from other sources. To the " Christmas numbers "published 
in connection with these two periodicals, Mr. Dickens was gener- 
ally a contributor; and in 1867 he collected and revised, expressly 
for the "Diamond" edition of his works (issued by the publishers 
of this volume), " the portions of those numbers^^ written by him- 



sel/y namely, " Somebodfs Luggage^^ " Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings^^ 
" Mrs. Lirriper^s Legacy ^^ " Doctor Marigold^'' " Two Ghost 
Stories;' " The Boy at Mugby,'' and " The Holly-Tree.'' He is 
said to have written the first and third portions of"^ The Perils of 
Certain English Prisoners'" (1857), and tnore or less oj ^^The 
Haunted House'' (1859), "^ Message from the Sea " (i860), ''No 
Thoroughfare " (1867), &^c.; but as he did not see fit to acknowl- 
edge any share in these composite productions^ and as it would be 
impossible to separate his contributions from those of the other 
writers associated with him, these stories have been wholly omitted. 
It is to be noted, however, that although, in the " Diamond'" edition, 
he claimed as his own only those portions ofMugby Junction" en' 
titled ''The Boy at Mugby " and " The Signal-Man " (reprinted as 
the second of" Two Ghost Stories "J, yet, in the Contents prefixed 
to this Christmas number of "All the Year Round" he put his 
na?ne as author to two other portions, entitled " Barbox Brothers," 
and " Barbox Brothers and Co." These are accordingly included 
in the present work. 

In three or four cases, the extracts from Dickens are taken 
from his "Readings, as Condensed by Himself" and not directly 
from his novels. In the case of other extracts, otnissions and ex- 
planatory additions are always carefully indicated. 

The summaries of the Principal Incidents in the longer tales 
have been borrowed (with some slight additions and changes) 
from the "Diamond" edition; but, as the original references 
were to the pages in that edition only, these have been omitted, 
and chapter references given in their stead. They will be found 
to furnish an excelle7it analysis of the tales, and to be exceedingly 
convenient for reference. A general synopsis of each story may also 
be readily obtained by reading the account of the principal character 
or characters figuring in it. 

The Illustrations are selected from those designed by Mr. S. 
Ey tinge, jun., for the "Library," " Household," and " Diamond' 



^Preface. yii 

editions of Dickens's Works, published, with the author's sanction, 
by Messrs. James R. Osgood and Company. Mr. Dickens 
only confirmed the ge?teral testimony to their excellence in saying 
of them, " They are remarkable for a delicate perception of beauty, 
a lively eye for character, a most agreeable absence of exags^eration, 
and a general modesty and propriety, which I greatly like." 

The number ofnatnes of characters included in the General In- 
dex, and more or less fully treated in the pages precedijtg the Index, 
is upwards of fifteen hundred and fifty. The nutnber of names 
of imaginary places, societies, and literary works, and of familiar 
phrases or sayings, and the like, — also included in the Index, — 
is upwards of two hundred. 

On the completion of this Dictionary, it was placed in the hands of 
Mr. William A. Wheeler, as a ^^ scholar of critical habits and 
approved experienced^ to be revised and corrected for the press j and 
he has read every Page of it with scrupulous care, both in the 
fnanuscript and the proofs, suggesting many alterations which have 
materially i7nproved the work, besides furnishing contributions of 
his own, which have given it still greater interest, value, and com- 
pleteness. 

As the preparation of this manual has been a pleasant task, the 
Author would faitt hope that those who consult it may find the 
perusal equally pleasant J and that it may help, in however small a 
degree, to extend and perpetuate thefatne and infiuence of Ch arles 
Dickens, not only in his native land, where he rested his claims to 
remembrance, and in America, whose people he always regarded 
as '"'■essentially one'''' with his own countrymen, but throughout the 
world, which he has so warmed and cheered with the sunshine of 
his genius and humanity, and to whose intellectual wealth he has 
added so much, 

April 20, 1872. 



€ontent0. 



PAGE. 

List of Illustrations ••••.. xi 

Alphabetical Order of»Dickens's Novels and Tales, with the 
Date op their First Publication ........ xiii 

DICTIONARY 1 to 542 

Sketches bt Boz 1 

Pickwick Papers .....18 

Oliver Twist 90 

MuDFoa Association • ... 118 

Nicholas Nigkleby ...••••••..124 

Sketches of Young Couples 154 

Master Humphrey's Clock. . • • 156 

Old Curiosity Shop •...164 

Barnaby Rudgb •••*.. 195 

Christmas Carol ••..209 

Martin Chuzzlewit •••••••••..216 

The Chimes. . . • • 249 

Cricket on the Hearth • • • • • 252 

Battle of Life .. ••••••••...256 

Dombey and Son .••••••••...258 

Haunted Man •• 284 

David Copperfield •••••• 290 

Bleak House ••••*.. 332 

Hard Times 360 

Seven Poor Travellers • ... 371 

Holly-Tree ..•••••••••.. 373 

Little Dorrit ..••••.•••... 376 

Tale of Two Cities ••••••••...400 

Hunted Down ...•••••••••.417 

Uncommercial Traveller • • • • 419 

Great Expectations ..•••••••..425 

ix 



X Contents. 

PAGE. 

Somebody's Luggage 449 

Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings 452 

Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy 456 

Our Mutual Friend . . • • 460 

Doctor Marigold 492 

Barbox Brothers .*••••• 495 

Boy at Mugby . . 498 

Two Ghost-Stories 600 

Holiday Romance 503 

George Silverman's Explanation 507 

New Uncommercial Samples 510 

Edwin Drood" 512 

Reprinted Pieces i . ; . . . 525 

Some Uncollected Pieces 535 

ADDENDA 543 

A Classed List of Charactebs, etc 547 

GENERAL INDEX 557 



Ct0t 0f IUu0tratx0n0. 



Charles Dickens -.. «• Frontispiece 



[Engraved under the superintendence of A. V. S. AJ»ruo. Y.] 

The Pickwick Club . pagk 1<< 

Joe, the Fat Boy 31 

Old Weller and the Coachmen 8f 

The Artful Dodger and Charley Bates 94 

Cheeryble Brothers and Tim Linkinwater 12f 

Mr. and Mrs. Squeers and Master Wackfoed 141 

QuiLP, Mrs. Quilp, and Mrs. Jiniwin ........ 175 

Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness 181 

Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim 210 

Sairey Gamp and Betsey Prig 223 

Mr. Pecksniff and his Daughters 227 

Elijah Pogram and Mrs. Hominy 231 

Captain Cuttle 264 

Uriah Heep and his Mother 300 

Mr. Micawber and his Family 303 

Peqgotty and Barkis 313 

Harold Skimpole , , 348 

Mr. Turveydrop and his Son 352 

Mr. Bounderby and Mrs. Sparsit 363 

Sydney Carton and the Seamstress 405 

Joe Gargery and Mrs. Joe 427 

PUMBLECHOOK and WOPSLB 440 

PODSNAP • 473 

The Boy at Muoby ..*••• 493 

zi 



or 
DICKENS'S NOVELS AND MINOR TALES, 

With the Date of their First Publication. 



BARNABY RUDGE, 1841. 
BATTLE OF LIFE, 1864. 
BLEAK HOUSE, 1852-53. 
BOY AT MUGBY, 1866. 
CHIMES, 1844. 
CHRISTMAS CAROL, 1843. 
CRICKET ON THE HEARTH, 1845. 
DAVID COPPERFIELD, 1849-50. 
DOCTOR MARIGOLD, 1865. 
DOMBEY AND SON, 1846-48. 
GEORGE SILVERMAN'S EXPLANATION, 1868. 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS, 1861. 
HARD TIMES, 1854. 
HAUNTED MAN, 1848. 
HOLIDAY ROMANCE, 1868. 
HOLLY TREE, 1855. 
HUNTED DOWN, 1859. 
LITTLE DORRIT, 1855-57. 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 1843-44. 
MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, 1840-41. 
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LEGACY, 1864. 
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS, 1863. 
MUDFOG ASSOCIATION, 1837-38. 
MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD, 1870. 
NEW UNCOMMERCIAL SAMPLES, 1869. 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 1838-39. 
xiii 



ziv 0lpl)al)etfcal ^xXizt ot 

OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 1840-41. 
OLIVER TWIST, 1837-39. 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND, 1864-65. 
PICKWICK PAPERS, 1836-37. 
REPRINTED PIECES, 1858. 
Namely: — The Begging Letter- Writer, 1850. 

Bill Sticking, 1851. 

Births. Mrs. Meek, of a Son, 1851, 

Child's Dream of a Star, 1850. 

Child's Story, 1852. 

Christmas-Tree, 1850. 

Detective Police, 1850. 

Down with the Tide, 1853. 

A Flight, 1851. 

The Ghost of Art, 1850. 

The Long Voyage, 1853. 

Lying Awake, 1852. 

A Monument of French Follt, 1851. 

Noble Savage, 1853. 

Nobody's Story, 1853. 

On Duty with Inspector Field, 1851. 

Our Bore, 1852. 

Our English Watering-Placb, 1851. 

Our French Watering-Place, 1854. 

Our Honorable Friend, 1852. 

Our School, 1851. 

Our Vestry, 1852. 

Out of the Season, 1856. 

Out op Town, 1856. 

A Plated Article, 1852, 

A Poor Man's Tale of a Patent, 1850. 

Poor Relation's Story, 1852. 

Prince Bull; A Fairy-Talb, 1855. 

Schoolboy's Story, 1853. 

Three "Detective" Anecdotes, 1850. 

Walk in a Workhouse, 1850. 
SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS, 1854. 
SKETCHES BY BOZ, 1836. 
Namely: — Our Parish; containing The Beadle, the Parish Engine 
the Schoolmaster; The Curate, the Old Lady, the Half 
pay Captain ; The Four Sisters; The Election for Beadle; 
The Broker's Man; The Ladies* Societies; Our Next-door 
Neighbor. 



ISfcfeens's Kobels anti ptinor a:ale0, xv 

SKETCHES BY BOZ, continued. 

Scenes ; containing The Streets — Morning ; The Streets — 
Night; Shops and their Tenants ; Scotland Yard; Seven 
Dials; Meditations in Monmouth Street; Hackney-Coach 
Stands; Doctors' Commons; London Recreations; The 
River ; Astley's ; Greenwich Fair ; PrivateTheatres ; Vaux- 
hall Gardens by Day; Early Coaches; Omnibuses;, The 
Last Cab-Driver, and the First Omnibus Cad ; A Parlia- 
mentary Sketch; Public Dinners; The First of May; 
Brokers' and Marine-Store Shops ; Gin Shops ; The Pawn- 
broker's Shop ; Criminal Courts; A Visit to Newgate. 
Characters; containing Thoughts about People; A Christ- 
mas Dinner ; The New Year ; Miss Evans and the Eagle ; 
The Parlor Orator; The Hospital Patient ; The Misplaced 
Attachment of Mr. John Dounce ; The Mistaken Milliner ; 
The Dancing Academy, Shabby-Genteel People; Making 
a Night of it ; The Prisoners' Van. 
Tales ; containing The Boarding-House ; Mr. Minns and his 
Cousin ; Sentiment ; The Tuggses at Ramsgate ; Horatio 
Sparkins; The Black Veil ; The Steam Excursion; The 
Great Winglebury Duel; Mrs. Joseph Porter; A Passage 
in the Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle ; The Bloomsbury 
Christening; The Drunkard's Death. 
SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES, 1841. 
Namely: — The Young Couple; The Formal Couple; The Loving 
Couple ; The Contradictory Couple ; The Couple who Dote 
upon their Children ; The Cool Couple ; The Plausible 
Couple; The Nice Little Couple; The Egotistical Couple; 
The Couple who Coddle Themselves ; The Old Couple. 
SOME UNCOLLECTED PIECES. 
Namely: — Is She his Wife? 1837. 

The Lamplighter's Story, 1841. 
Pantomime of Life, 1837. 
Public Life of Mr. Tulrumble, 1837. 
The Strange Gentleman, 1837. 
The Village Coquettes, 1836. 
SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGE, 1862. 
TALE OF TWO CITIES, 1859. 
TWO GHOST STORIES, 1865, '66. 
UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER, 1860. 



The Dickens Dictionary. 



0kctcl)C0 bs Bo^, 



ILLUSTRATIVE OF EVEEY-DAT LIFE Am> EVEKY-DAY PEOPLE. 



TUESB are a collection of short pieces, comprising Mr. Dickens's first attempts at 
authorship, and containing the germs of many of the characters which were more 
fully developed in his later works. They were originally contributed to " The 
Monthly Magazine " (" The Old Monthly," as it was called to distinguish it from 
Colburn's " New Monthly "), " The Morning Chronicle," and " Bell's Life in Lon- 
don." In 1836 they were brought together, and republished, with illustrations by 
George Cruikshank, in two series, of which the former was contained in two vol- 
umes, and the latter in one. The very first of these " Sketches " was that entitled 
" Mrs. Joseph Porter." It appeared in " The Monthly Magazine " for January, 
1834. The first in which Dickens assumed the pseudonym of *' Boz " was the 
second part or chapter of " The Boarding-House," which came out in the same 
magazine in August, 1834. Of the origin of this name, the author has given the 
following account : " * Boz ' was the nickname of a pet child, a younger brother 
[Augustus Dickens], whom I had dubbed Moses in honor of the Vicar of Wake- 
field; which, being facetiously pronounced through the nose, became Boses, and, 
being shortened, became Boz. ' Boz ' was a very familiar household word to me 
long before I was an author ; and so I came to adopt it." It will be seen that 
the name was originally pronounced with the long sound of o, as if spelt Boze / 
but the public, being ignorant of its derivation, naturally enough gave the vowel 
the short sound, as in Bob. Thus Hood says, in the verses he wrote on the occa* 
•ion of Dickens's leaving England for America in 1842, — 

*' Though a pledge I had to shiver, 
And the longest ever teas. 
Ere his vessel left our river, 
I would drink a health to Boz,** 



2 2CI)e Qfcfee«s Dictfonars. 

Mr. Dickens's cwn estimate of " The Sketches " — given in 1850, in the Preface 
to a new edition of them — was, that they are " often extremely crude and ill-con- 
Bidered, bearing obvious marks of haste and inexperience, particularly in that 
section of the volume which is comprised under the general head of Tales." Such, 
however, was their mingled shrewdness, humor, and pathos, so varied and graphic 
were they, that they speedily became very popular ; and for a time, indeed, the dc* 
mand was greater than the supply. 



CHARACTERS INTROBTJCEB. 



OUR PARISH. 

THE BEADLE. 

Simmons. Parish beadle, and prototype of Mr. Bumble in 
" Oliver Twist.'* 

THE FOUR SISTERS. 

Dawson, Mr. A surgeon, &c., in attendance on Mrs. Robinson at 
the time of her confinement. 

Robinson, Mr. A gentleman in a public office, who marries the 
youngest Miss Willis, though he has to court her three sisters also, 
as they are all completely identified one with another. 

Willises, The four Miss. Four sisters in " our parish," who 
seem to have no separate existence, and who drive the neighbor- 
hood distracted by keeping profoundly secret the name of the 
fortunate one who is to marry ]Mr. Robinson. 

ELECTION FOR BEADLE. 

Bung, Mr. A man of thirty-five years of age, with five small 
children ; a candidate for the office of beadle, which he obtains by 
a large majority. {See helovo.) 

Purday, Captain. A bluff and unceremonious old naval officer 
on half-pay (first introduced, though not mentioned by name, in 
the sketch entitled " The Curate "). He is a determined opponent 
of the constituted authorities, whoever they may chance to be, and 
zealously supports Bung for beadle. 

Spruggins, Mr. Thomas. Defeated candidate for beadle; a 
Uttle thin man, fifty years old, with a pale face expressive of care 



Sltetci)BS 1)2 3So?. 8 

and fatigue, owing, perhaps, to the fact of his having ten small 
children (two of them twins) and a wife. 
Spruggins, Mrs. His wife. She solicits votes for her husband, 
and increases the general prepossession which at first prevails in 
his favor by her personal appearance, which indicates the proba- 
bility of a still further addition, at no remote period, to his already 
large family. 

THE BROKER'S MAN. 

BuDg, Mr. A broker's assistant, afterwards the parish beadle. 
(5ee above.) One of those careless, good-for-nothing, happy 
fellows who float cork-like on the surface for the world to play at 
hockey with. 

Fixera. A broker, who assumes the alias of Smith ; Bung's master. 

John. A servant. 

THE LADIES' SOCIETIES. 

Browns, The three Miss. Members of various visitation com- 
mittees and charitable societies, and admirers of the curate, who is 
a young man, and unmarried. They are opposed to — 

Parker, Mrs. Johnson. The mother of seven extremely fine 
girls, — all unmarried, — and the founder of a Ladies' Bible and 
Prayer-Book Distribution Society, from which the Miss Browns are 
excluded. 

OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. 

Williana. A young man who overtasks himself to earn a support 
for himself and his widowed mother, and at last dies in her arms. 



SCENES. 
THE STREETS. — NIGHT. 

Alacklin, Mrs. An inhabitant of No. 4 in one of the little streets 

in the suburbs of London. 
Peplow, Mrs. A neighbor of Mrs. Macklin. 
Peplow, Master. Her son. 
Smuggins, Mr. A little round-faced man, in the comic line, with a 

mixed air of self-denial and mental consciousness of his own powers. 
Walker, Mrs. An inhabitant of No. 5 in the same street with 

Mrs. Macklin. 



4 Cri)e Bfc&ens Bictfonstj). 

SEVEN DIALS. 

Mary. A woman who has taken " three-outs ** enough of gin and 

bitters to make her quarrelsome. 
Sarah. A vixen who falls out with her, and settles the difficulty 

by a resort to blows. 

DOCTORS' COMMONS. 

Bum pie, Micliael. Promoter, or complainant, against Mr. Slud- 
berry, in a brawling case. 

Sludberry, Thomas. A little red-faced, sly-looking, ginger-beer 
seller, defendant in the case of " Bumple against Sludberry ; " sen- 
tenced to excommunication for a fortnight and payment of costs. 

LONDON RECREATIONS. 

Bill) Uncle. One of a party of Sunday pleasurers at a tea-garden ; 

considered a great wit by his friends. 
Sally. His niece, joked by Uncle Bill about her marriage, and her 

first baby, because a certain young man is "keeping company" 

with her. 

THE RIVER. 

Dando. A boatman. 

ASTLEY'S. 
Woolford, Miss. A ch'cus-rider. 

PRIVATE THEATRES. 

Larkins, Jem.. An amateur actor in the genteel comedy line, 

known to the public as Mr. Horatio St. Julian. 
Loggins, Mr. A player who takes the part of Macbeth, and is 

announced on the bills as Mr. Beverley. 

VAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY. 

Green, Mr. An aeronaut. 

Green, Mr., jun. His son and assistant. 

THE LAST CAB-DRIVER AND THE FIRST OMNIBUS-CAD. 

Barker, Mr. William, commonly called Bill Boobker or 
Aggerawatin Bill. An omnibus-cad, with a remarkable talent 
for enticing the youthful and unwary, and shoving the old and help- 
less, into the wrong 'bus. 



A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 

Captain, The, A spare, squeaking old man, always damning bia 
own eyes or " somebody else's," and a complete walking-reservoir 
of spirits and water. 

Jane. The Hebe of " Bellamy's," or the refreshment-room of the 
Houses of Parliament. She has a thorough contempt for the great 
majority of her visitors, and a great love of admiration. 

Nicholas. The butler of "Bellamy's." He has held the same 
place, dressed exactly in the same manner, and said precisely the 
same things, ever since the oldest of its present visitors can 
remember. 

rom, Honest. A metropolitan member of the House of Commons. 

THE FIRST OF MAY. 

Bluffen, Mr., of Adam-and-Eve Court. A speaker at the anni- 
versary dinner given to the chimney-sweeps on May-day at White 
Conduit House. 

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 

Henry, Mr. A pawnbroker, whose shop is near Drury Lane. 
Jinkins. A customer, dirty, intoxicated, and quarrelsome. 
Mackin, Mrs. Another customer, slipshod and abusive. 
Tatham, Mrs. An old woman who tries to borrow eighteen pence 
or a shilling on a child's frock and " a beautiful silk ankecher." 



CHARACTEES. 

THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE. 

Smith, Mr. A poor clerk, a mere passive creature of habit and 
endurance. 

A CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

George, Aunt. The hostess at whose house the Christmas family- 
party assemble. 

George, Uncle. Her husband. 

Jane, Aunt. Another member of the family. 

Margaret, Aunt. Married to a poor man, and treated coldly hy 
her relations in consequence. 

Robert, Uncle. Husband to Aunt Jane. 



6 CTJie Hfc&ens WttUonaxs* 

THE NEW YEAR. 

Dobble, Mr. A clerk in a public office, who gives a quadrille party 

on New Year's eve. 
Dobble, Mr., jun. His son. 
Dobble, Miss Julia. His eldest daughter. 
Dobble, Mrs. His wife. 
Tupple, Mr. A junior clerk in the same office with Mr. Dobble ; 

a young man with a tendency to cold and corns, but " a charming 

person," and " a perfect ladies' man." 

MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE. 

Evans, Miss Jeminia {called " J'mima Ivins " by her acquaint- 
ances). A shoe-binder and straw-bonnet-maker, affianced to Mr. 
Samuel Wilkins. 

Evans, Miss Tilly. One of her sisters. 

Evans, Mrs. Her mother. 

Wilkins, Mr. Samuel. A journeyman carpenter of small di- 
mensions, " keeping company " with Miss Jemima Evans. 

THE PARLOR ORATOR. 

Ellis, Mr. A sharp-nosed man with a very slow and soft voice, 
who considers Mr. Kogers " such improving company." 

Rogers, Mr. A stoutish man of about forty, with a red face and a 
confident oracular air, which marks him as a leading politician, 
general authority, and universal anecdote-relater. Proof is what 
he requires — proof, not assertions — in regard to any thing and 
every thing whatsoever. 

Tommy. A little chubby-faced green-grocer, of great good sense, 
who opposes Mr. Rogers, and is denounced by him, in consequence, 
as " a willing slave." 

THE HOSPITAL PATIENT. 

Jack. A young fellow who treats his paramoiw so brutally as to 
cause her death, and yet is so loved by her, even to the last, that 
she cannot be persuaded to swear his life away, but dies praying 
God to bless him. 

THE MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF- MR. JOHN DOUNCE. 

Dounce, Mr. John. A fat, red-faced, white-headed old boy, a 
retired glove and braces maker, and a widower. He falls in love 



Sfeetcjes hs 3So?. 7 

with a bewitcliing bar-maid, who trifles with his affections, and at 
last tells him plainly that she " wouldn't have him at no price ; " 
whereupon he offers himself successively to a school-mistress, a 
landlady, a feminine tobacconist, a housekeeper, and his own cook, 
by the last of whom he is accepted, married, — and thoroughly 
henpecked. 

Harris, Mr. A law-stationer and a jolly old fellow ; a friend of 
Mr. Dounce. 

Jennings, Mr. A robe-maker ; also a friend of Mr. Dounce, and 
a sad dog in his time. 

Jones, Mr. Another friend, a barrister's clerk, and a rum fellow, 
— capital company, — full of anecdote. 

THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. 

Martin, Miss Amelia. A milliner and dressmaker who has an 
ambition to " come out " as a public singer, and tries it, but fails 
miserably. 

Rodolph, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings. Her friends and counsel- 
lors. 

THE DANCING ACADEMY. 

Billsmethi, Signer. A popular dancing-master. 

Billsmethi, Master. His son. 

Billsmethi, Miss. His daughter, a young lady with her hair 
curled in a crop all over her head, and her shoes tied in sandals all 
over her ankles. She sets her cap for Mr. Cooper, and, not suc- 
ceeding in securing him for a husband, brings a suit for breach of 
promise, but finally compromises the matter for twenty pounds, four 
shillings, and sixpence. 

Cooper, Mr. Augustus. A young gentleman of Fetter Lane, 
in the oil-and-color business, just of age, with a little money, a 
little business, and a little mother. 

MAKING A NIGHT OF IT. 

Potter, Mr. Thomas. A clerk in the city, with a limited income, 
and an unbounded friendship for Mr. Smithers. 

Smithers, Mr. Robert. Also a clerk in the city, knit by the 
closest ties of intimacy and friendship to Mr. Potter. On the 
receipt of their quarter's salary, these two " thick-and-thin pals," 
as they style themselves, spend an evening together, and proceed- 
ing by degrees from simple hilarity to drunkenness, commit various 



S 8ri)e ©icfecns BfctConats. 

breaches of the peace ; are locked up in the station-house for the 
night ; brought before the police court in the morning, and each 
fined five shillings for being drunk, and thirty-four pounds for sev- 
enteen assaults at forty shillings a head. 

THE PRISONERS' VAN. 

Bella. A young girl, not fourteen, forced by a sordid and rapacious 

mother to a life of vice and crime, which she loathes, but cannot 

escape from. 
Emily. Her sister, hardened in depravity by two additional 

years' experience of the debauchery of London street-life, and 

priding herself on being " game." 



TALES. 

THE BOARDING-HOUSE. 

Agnes. Mrs. Bloss's maid. 

Bloss, Mrs. The wealthy widow of a cork-cutter, whose cook she 
had been. Having nothing to do, she imagines she must be ill, 
but eats amazingly, and has the appearance of being remarkably 
well. She makes the acquaintance of Mr. Gobler, and marries 
him. 

Calton, Mr. A superannuated beau, exceedingly vain, inordinately 
selfish, and the very pink of politeness. He makes himself agreeable 
to Mrs. Maplesone, and agrees to marry her ; but, failing to do so, 
she sues him for breach of promise, and recovers a thousand pounds. 

Evenson, Mr. John. A stern, morose, and discontented man, a 
tboroLiizh radical, and a universal fault-finder. 

Gobler, Mr. A lazy, selfish hypochondriac, whose digestion is so 
much impaired, and whose interior so deranged, that his stomach 
is not of the least use to him. 

Hicks, Mr. Septimus. A tallish, white-faced, spectacled young 
man, who has the reputation of being very talented. He falls in 
love with Miss Matilda Maplesone, whom he marries, but after- 
wards deserts. 

James. A servant to Mrs. Tibbs. 

Maplesone, Mrs. An enterprising widow of fifty, shrewd, schem- 
ing, and good-looking, with no objection to marrying again, if it 
would benefit her dear girls. 



Maplesone, Miss Julia. Her younger daughter; married to 
Mr. Septimus Hicks. 

Maplesone, Miss Matilda. Her elder daughter; married to 
Mr. Simpson. 

O'Bleary, Mr. Frederick. A patriotic Irishman recently im- 
ported in a perfectly wild state ; in search of employment, and 
ready to do or be any thing that might turn up. 

Robinson. A female servant to Mrs. Tibbs. 

Simpson, Mr. One of the " walking gentlemen " of society ; an 
empty-headed young man, always dressed according to the carica- 
tures published in the monthly fashions. 

Tibbs, Mr. A short man, with very short legs, but a face peculiar- 
ly long, by way of indemnification. He is to his wife what the 
is in 90, — of some importance with her, but nothing without her. 

Tibbs, Mrs. His wife, mistress of the boarding-house ; the most 
tidy, fidgety, thrifty little person that ever inhaled the smoke of 
London. 

Tomkins, Mr. Alfred. Clerk in a wine-house ; a connoisseur in 
paintings, and with a wonderful eye for the picturesque. 

Wisbottle, Mr. A clerk in the Woods and Forests office, and a 
high Tory ; addicted to whistling, and having a great idea of his 
singing powers. 

Wosky, Doctor. Mrs. Bloss's medical attendant, who has 
amassed a fortune by invariably humoring the worst fancies of his 
female patients. 

MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN. 

Brogson, Mr. An elderly gentleman visiting at Mr. Budden's. 

Budden, Mr. Octavius. A retired com-chandler, residing at 
Amelia Cottage, Poplar Walk, Stamford Hill. He is a cousin to 
Mr. INlinns. 

Budden, Mrs. Amelia. His wife. 

Budden, Master Alexander Augustus. Their son, a pre- 
cocious child, and the pride of his parents. 

Jones, Mr. A little man with red whiskers, a visitor at Mr. Bud- 
den's, and a " devilish sharp fellow," who talks equally well on 
any subject. 

Minns, Mr. Augustus. A clerk in Somerset House, and a 
precise, tidy, retiring old bachelor, who is always getting into 
trouble when he leaves his own snug and well-ordered apartments, 



10 8ri)e ©fcfeens JSictfonacg. 

and who is thoroughly disgusted with a visit which he is compelled 
to make to his cousin, Mr. Octavius Budden. 

SENTIMENT. 

Butler, Mr. Theodosius. A very wonderful genius, author of a 
pamphlet entitled " Considerations on the Policy of Removing the 
Duty on Beeswax." This he presents to Cornelius Brook Ding- 
wall, Esq., M.P., under the assumed name of Edward M'Neville 
Walter, and thus gains admission to his house, and an opportunity 
of winning the heart of his supersentimental daughter. 

Crumpton, Miss Amelia. A very tall, thin, skinny, upright, 
yellow, and precise maiden lady, with the strictest possible idea of 
propriety. 

CJrumpton, Miss Maria. The exact counterpart of her sister, in 
conjunction with whom she carries on a finishing-school for young 
ladies, called " Minerva House." 

Dadson, Mr. Writing-master at the Miss Crumptons' school. 

Dadson, Mrs. His wife. 

Dingwall, Cornelius Brook, Esq., M.P. A very haughty, 
solemn, and portentous man, having a great opinion of his own 
abilities, and wonderfully proud of being a member of parliament. 

Dingwall, Mrs. Brook. His wife. 

Dingwall, Frederick. Son of Mr. and Mrs. Brook Dingwall ; 
one of those public nuisances, — a spoiled child. 

Dingwall, Miss Lavinia Brook. Their daughter, the most 
romantic of all romantic young ladies ; in love with Edward M'Nev- 
ille Walter (otherwise Mr. Theodosius Butler), a young man much 
her inferior in life. She is therefore sent to the Miss Crumptons* 
educational establishment, to eradicate the sentimental attachment 
from her young mind, on the supposition that she can have nc op- 
portunity of meeting him there. She does meet him, however, and 
runs away with and marries him in haste, only to repent at leisure. 

Hilton, Mr. Master of ceremonies at a ball at Minerva House. 

James. Servant to Mr. Brook Dingwall. 

Lobskini, Signor. A singing-master, with a splendid tenor 
voice. 

Parsons, Miss Laetitia. A brilliant musical performer. 

Smithers, Miss Emily. The belle of Minerva House. 

Wilson, Miss Caroline. Her bosom-friend, and the ugliest girl 
in Hammersmith, — or out of it. 



THE TUGGSES AT RAMSGATE. 

Amelia, Jane, and Mary Ann. Young ladies who take part 
in games of chance in a concert-room at liamsgate. 

Slaughter, Lieutenant. A friend of Captain Waters. 

Tippin, Mr. A comic singer at Ramsgate. 

Tippin, Mrs. His wife; a concert-singer from the London theatres. 

Tippin, Master. Their son. 

Tippin, Miss. Their daughter ; a performer on the guitar. 

Tuggs, Mr. Joseph. A Kttle pursj London grocer, with shiny 
hair, twinkling eyes, and sliort legs. By the unexpected decision 
of a long-pending law-suit, he comes into possession of twenty 
thousand pounds, whereupon he incontinently puts on airs, closes 
his shop, and starts with his family for Ramsgate, that being a 
fashionable watering-place. 

Tuggs, Mrs. His wife ; in charge of the cheesemongery depart- 
ment, while her husband is a shop-keeper. 

Tuggs, Miss Charlotte. Their only daughter. When her fa- 
ther becomes rich, she calls herself Charlotta. 

Tuggs, Mr. Simon. Their only son ; a young gentleman with 
that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to weak- 
ness in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a great mind 
and romantic disposition. At first, he is a book-keeper in his fa- 
ther's shop ; but, when a large fortune suddenly falls to the family, 
he changes the orthographical architecture of his name, and styles 
himself Cymon ; attempts to play the gentleman ; and roundly abus- 
es his father for not appearing aristocratic. Going to Ramsgate, 
he is neatly taken in and swindled by Captain Waters and his wife, 
whom he meets there, and greatly admires, — especially the wife. 
He escapes with the loss of his veneration for appearances, and of 
fifteen hundred pounds in money. 

Waters, Captain Walter. A pretended military man, and a 
sharper. 

Waters, Mrs. Belinda. His wife ; a young lady with long black 
ringlets, large black eyes, brief petticoats, and unexceptronable 
ankles. 

HORATIO SPARKINS. 

Barton, Mr. Jacob. Brother of Mrs. Malderton ; a large grocer, 
who never scrupled to avow that he wasn't above his°business. 
'* He'd made his money by it, and he didn't care who know'd it." 



12 STiJe 23icfeens iBictionarg. 

Plamwell, Mr. A little spoffish toad-eater, with green spectacles, 
always pretending to know everybody, but in reality knowing no- 
body ; a friend of Mr. Malderton. 

John. A man in Mr. Malderton's service, half groom, half garden- 
er, but, on great occasions, touched up and brushed to look like a 
second footman. 

Malderton, Mr. (of Oak Lodge, Camberwell). A man who has 
become rich in consequence of a few successful speculations, and 
who is hospitable from ostentation, illiberal from ignorance, and 
prejudiced from conceit. The whole scope of his ideas is Umited 
to Lloyds, the Exchange, the India House, and the Bank. 

Malderton, Mrs. His wife ; a little fat woman, with a great aver- 
sion to any thing low. 

Malderton, Miss Marianne. Their younger daughter ; a senti- 
mental damsel. 

Malderton, Miss Teresa. Their elder daughter ; a young lady 
of eight and twenty, who has flirted for ten years in vain, but is 
still on the lookout for a husband. 

Malderton, Mr. Frederick. Their elder son; the very heau 
ideal of a smart waiter, and the family authority on all points of 
taste, dress, and fashionable arrangement. 

Malderton, Mr. Thomas. Their younger son ; snubbed by his 
father on all occasions, with a view to prevent his becoming 
" sharp," — a very unnecessary precaution. 

Sparkins, Mr. Horatio. A young man whose dashing manners 
and gentlemanlike appearance so dazzle the Maldertons, that tney 
think he must be a man of large fortune and aristocratic family. 
They even go so far as to suspect that he may be a nobleman, and 
are greatly mortified at last to discover that he is a mere clerk in a 
linen-draper's shop, and owns to the plebeian name of Smith. 

THE STEAM EXCURSION. 

Briggs, Mrs. A widow-lady ; a rival of Mps. Taunton. 

Briggs, Miss. One of her three daughters. 

Briggs, Miss Julia. Another daughter. 

Briggs, Miss Kate. Another daughter. 

Briggs, Mr. Alexander. Her younger son, articled to his broth- 
er. He is remarkable for obstinacy. 

Briggs, Mr. Samuel. Her elder son ; an attorney, and a mt-re 
machine ; a sort of self-acting, legal walking-stick. 



Se;etcT)es hs aSo?. 13 

Edkins, Mr. (of the Inner Temple). A pale young gentleman 
in a green stock and green spectacles, who makes a speech on 
every occasion on which one can possibly be made. 

Fleetwood, Mr. One of the excursion party. 

Fleetwood, Mrs. His wife, who accompanies him. 

Fleetwood, Master. Their son ; an unfortunate innocent of 
about four years of age. 

Hardy, Mr. A stout, middle-aged gentleman, with a red face, a 
somewhat husky voice, and a tremendous laugh. He is a practical 
joker, is immensely popular with married ladies, and a general 
favorite with young men. 

Helves, Capt. A military gentleman with a bass voice and an 
incipient red mustache ; a friend of the Tauntons. 

Noakes, Mr. Percy. A law-student, smart, spoffish, and eight 
and twenty. With a few friends he attempts to get up an excur- 
sion party to which no one shall be invited who has not received 
the unanimous vote of a committee of arrangements. But the ob- 
stinate Mr. Alexander Briggs being a member of this committee, 
and blackballing everybody who is proposed by Mr. Noakes or his 
friends, the original plaii is abandoned ; and every gentleman is 
allowed to bring whom he pleases. The party start on a Wednes- 
day morning for the Nore, and reach it after a pleasant trip ; but 
on the return a violent squall comes up; the pitching and tossing of 
the boat bring on a general seasickness ; and, when they get back 
to the wharf at two o'clock the next morning, every one is thor- 
oughly dispirited and worn out. 

Stubbs, Mrs. A dirty old laundress, with an inflamed counte- 
nance. 

Taunton, Mrs. A good-looking widow of fifty, with the form of 
a giantess and the mind of a child. The sole end of her exist- 
ence is the pursuit of pleasure, and some means of killing time. 
She is a particular friend of Mr. Percy Noakes, and a mortal 
enemy of the Briggses. 

Taunton, Miss Emily. Her daughter ; a frivolous young lady. 
Taunton, Miss Sophia. Another daughter, as light-minded as 
her sister. 

THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL. 

Brown, Miss Emily. A young lady beloved by both Mr. Trott 
and Mr. Hunter, but finally maiTied to the latter. 

2 



14 2r|)e Bicfeens 33ictfonars. 

Hunter, Mr. Horace. Rival of Mr. Trott for the hand of Miss 
Emily Brown. 

Manners, Miss Julia. A buxom and wealthy woman of forty, 
formerly engaged to be married to a ]\Ir. Cornberry, who died leav- 
ing her a large property unencumbered with the addition of him- 
self. Being in want of a young husband, she falls in love with a 
certain wild and prodigal nobleman, Lord Peter, who falls in lovt 
with her handsome fortune of three thousand pounds a year ; b 
in the end she marries plain Mr. Trott. 

Overton, Joseph, Esq. Solicitor, and mayor of Great Win- 
glebury. 

Peter, Lord. A dissipated sprig of nobility, attached to Miss 
Manners (or her money) ; killed by being thrown from his horse 
in a steeple-chase. 

Thomas. A waiter at the Winglebury Arms. 

Trott, Mr. Alexander. A cowardly young tailor (or umbrella- 
maker). He desires to marry Miss Emily Brown, but is deterred 
by the hostile attitude of Mr. Horace Hunter, who challenges him 
to mortal combat for daring to think of such a thing. He accepts 
the challenge in a blood-thirsty note, but immediately sends an- 
other, and an anonymous one, to the mayor of Great Winglebury, 
urging that ]\Ir. Trott be forthwith arrested. By a ludicrous blunder, 
he is mistaken for Lord Peter, who is expected at the Winglebury 
Arms for the purpose of meeting Miss Julia Manners, his intend- 
ed, and who is to be seized and carried off as an insane person, 
in order that his relatives may not discover him. Thus it happens 
that Trott is taken away in a carriage with Miss Manners, and, 
mutual explanations having been made, that he marries her 
instead of the adorable Miss Emily Brown. 

Williamson, Mrs. Landlady of the Winglebury Arms. 

MRS. JOSEPH PORTER. 

Balderstone, Mr. Thomas, called " Uncle Tom." A rich 
brother of Mrs. Gattleton, always in a good temper, and always 
talking and joking. 

Brown, Mr. A performer on the violoncello at the private theat- 
ricals. 

Cape, Mr. A violinist. 

Evans, Mr. A tall, thin, and pale young gentleman, with lovely 
whiskers, and a remarkable talent for writing verses in albums, and 



Sfeetcijes i)s Boj. 15 

for playing the flute. He is the Roderigo of the private theat- 
ricals. 

Gattleton, Mr. A retired stockbroker, living at Rose Villa, Clap* 
ham Rise. He is infected, as are the other members of his fami- 
ly, with a mania for private theatricals, acting himself as prompter. 

Gattleton, Mrs. His wife ; a kind-hearted, good-tempered, vul- 
gar soul, with a natural antipathy to other people's unmarried 
daughters, a bodily fear of ridicule, and a great dislike for Mrs. 
Joseph Porter. 

Gattleton, Miss. One of their three daughters. 

Gattleton, Miss Caroline. Another daughter ; the Fenella of the 
private theatricals. 

Gattleton, Miss Lucina. Another daughter, who plays the 
part of Desdemona. 

Gattleton, Mr. Sempronius. Their son, at once stage-manager 
and Othello. 

Harleigh, Mr. A singer, who takes the part of Masanidlo. 

Jenkins, Miss. A piano-player. 

Porter, Mrs. Joseph. A sarcastic scandal-monger, who delights 
in making other people uncomfortable. At the private theatricals 
of the Gattletons, she indulges her propensity to mischief-making 
by setting on Mr. Jacob Barton (who prides himself on his accu- 
rate knowledge of Shakspeare) to interrupt the performers in 
the very midst of the play by correcting their numerous mistakes. 

Porter, Miss Emily. Her daughter. 

Wilson, Mr. The lago of the private theatricals. 

A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. WATKINS TOTTLE. 

Ikey. The factotum of Mr. Solomon Jacobs's sponging-house. 

Jacobs, Mr. Solomon. A bailiff, living in Cursitor Street. 

Jem. A sallow-faced, red-haired, sulky boy in charge of the door 
of Mr. Jacobs's private lock-up. 

John. Servant to Mrs. Parsons. 

Lillerton, Miss. A prim spinster of uncertain age, with a com- 
plexion as clear as that of a wax doll, and a face as expressive. 

Martha. Servant to Mrs. Parsons. 

Parsons, Mr. Gabriel. An elderly and rich sugar-baker, who 
mistakes rudeness for honesty, and abrupt bluntness for an open 
and candid manner. 

Parsons, Mrs. Fanny. His wife. 



iG Etit iifcfeeits 23ictfonar2. 

Timson, The Reverend Charles. A friend of Mr. Parsons. 
He marries Miss Lillerton. 

Tottle, Mr. "Watkins. A plump, clean, rosy bachelor of fifty ; a 
compound of strong uxorious inclinations and an unparalleled degree 
of anti-connubial timidity. Having been arrested for debt, and con- 
fined in a sponging-house, bis friend Parsons engages to pay the 
debt, and take him out, if he will agree to marry Miss Lillerton, 
■who has five hundred pounds a year in her own right. On being 
released, he offers himself to that lady, but after such an awkward 
and ambiguous fashion, that she quite mistakes his meaning, And 
answers him in a way that makes him think himself accepted. On 
being sent by her with a note — respecting their marriage, as he 
supposes — to the Reverend Mr. Timson, it transpires that she has 
been engaged to that gentleman for several weeks. The upshot of 
the whole affair is, that Mr. Parsons renounces the friendship and 
acquaintance of Mr. Tottle, who takes refuge from " the slings and 
arrows of outrageous fortune " by walking into the Regent's Canal. 

Walker, Mr. An imprisoned debtor, inmate of Mr. Solomon 
Jacobs's private lock-up. 

Willis, Mr. Another inmate of the same establishment. 

THE BLOOMSBURY CHRISTENING. 

Danton, Mr. A young man with a considerable stock of impu- 
dence, and a very small share of ideas, who passes for a wit. He 
is a friend of Mr. Kitterbell's, and a great favorite generally, espe- 
cially with young ladies. 

Dumps, Mr. Nicoderaus, called "Long Dumps." An old 
bachelor, never happy but when he is miserable, and always miser- 
able when he has the best reason to be happy, and whose only real 
comfort is to make everybody about him wretched. He is uncle to 
]\Ir. Charles Kitterbell, and, having been invited to stand as god- 
father to that gentleman's infant son, reluctantly does so, but takes 
his revenge by suggesting the most dismal possibilities of sickness 
and accident as altogether likely to happen to the child, and by 
making a speech at the supper after the christening, so lugubrious 
and full of gloomy forebodings as to throw Mrs. Kitterbell into 
violent hysterics, thus breaking up the party, and enabling him 
to walk home with a cheerful heart. 

Kitterbell, Mr. Charles. A small, sharp, spare man, with an 
extraordinarily large head and a cast in his eye ; very credulous 
and matter-of-fact. 



<Sftetc|)es iia? 38o?. 17 

Kitterbell, Mrs. Jemima. His wife ; a tall, thin young lady 
with very light hair, a particularly white face, a slight cough, and a 
languid smile. 

Kitterbell, Master Frederick Charles William. Theij 
first baby. 

THE DRUNKARD'S DEATH. 

Tomi. One of the officers who arrest young Warden. 

Warden. A confirmed and irreclaimable drunkard. Remorse, 
fear, and shame ; the loss of friends, happiness, and station ; the 
death of his wife from grief and care ; the murder of one of his 
sons, whom he had driven from home in a drunken fit; his own 
betrayal of another son into the hangman's hands from a like cause ; 
his final desertion by his daughter, who has stayed by him and sup- 
ported him for years ; the utmost extremity of poverty, disease, and 
houseless want, — do not avail to conquer his fierce rage for drink, 
which drives him remorselessly on, until at last he seeks release in 
death by drowning himself in the Thames. 

Warden, Mary. His daughter. 

Warden, William. His son. He avenges his brother's death by 
killing the gamekeeper who shot him; flees from justice to his 
father's solitary attic-room in the obscurest portion of Whitefriars ; 
is discovered by the ofiicers in consequence of his father's getting 
intoxicated and betraying his hiding-place ; and is seized, hand- 
cuffed, carried off, and made to suffer the penalty of his crime. 



|p05tl)um0U0 Papers of tl)e pick- 
mitk €lub* 



This work was issued in monthly shilling numbers, with green covers, — a form 
of publication which Mr. Dickens adopted in all his subsequent monthly serials. 
The first number appeared in March, 1836, with four illustrations by Robert Sey- 
mour. But this ar(dst dying suddenly, before the publication of the second num- 
ber (for which, however, he had furnished three plates), a Mr. R. W. Buss was chos- 
en to succeed him ; and two plates '' drawn and etched " by this gentleman appeared 
in No. 3. But they were so inferior both in conception and execution, that he was 
dismissed, and Mr. Hablot Knight Browne was selected as the illustrator of the 
work, furnishing the two plates for No. 4. In No. 5 he used for the first time the 
pseudonym of Phiz, which he has ever since retained. In the second edition of 
the work, the publishers cancelled the two plates by Mr. Buss, which appeared in 
the third number, and substituted two others by Mr. Browne. 

The author has given the following account of the origin of the work : " The 
idea propounded to me was, that the monthly something should be a vehicle for 
certain plates to be executed by Mr. Seymour; and there was a notion, either on 
the part of that admirable humorous artist, or of my visitor [Mr. Chapman, of the 
publishing-house of Chapman and Hall] (I forget which), that a ' Nimrod Club.' 
the members of which were to go out shooting, fishing, and so forth, and getting 
themselves into difficulties through their want of dexterity, would be the best 
means of introducing these. I objected, on consideration, that, although born and 
partly bred in the country, I was no great sportsman, except in regard of all kind i 
of locomotion ; that the idea was not novel, and had been already much used ; that 
it would be infinitely better for the plates to arise naturally out of the text ; and 
that I should like to take my own way, with a freer range of English scenes and 
people, and was afraid I should ultimately do so in any case, whatever course 1 
might prescribe to myself at starting. My views being deferred to, I thought of 
Mr. rickwick, and wrote the first number; from the proof-sheets of which Mr. 
Seymour made his drawing of the club, and that happy portrait of its founder by 
which he is always recognized, and which may be said to have made him a reality. 
I connected Mr. Pickwick with a club, because of the original suggestion ; and I 
18 




/ 

i / 


r 




\ 


\ 


U^,'i 1 


\ \ 


, 


-vl 1 


• 




:=^— .'- >■'_ 



5r!)e 33icfctoicfe 33apers. 19 

put in Mr. Winkle expressly for the use of Mr. Seymour." The conception of 
Pickwick as an elderly little gentleman, somewhat pursy, with a bland face, bald 
head, circular spectacles, fawn-colored tights, and black gaiters, is said to have 
originated in a description by Mr. Chapman of a like odd-looking character whom 
he had met at Richmond. The ludicrous name of •' Pickwick" is not a fabrica- 
tion of the novelist, as many suppose, but is also " founded on fact." It was ac- 
tually borne by the proprietor of a line of stages running between London and 
Bath, and, catching Mr. Dickens's eye (which was always on the watch for any 
thing queer or out of the way), it was adopted by him as the name of his hero, 
and given to the club, instead of " Nimrod," which had been at first proposed. In 
the account of the journey to Bath which Mr. Pickwick and his friends take after 
the famous trial is over, the following allusion to his namesake occurs : — 

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the back part of the coach ; 
Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr. Pickwick was preparing to follow him; when Sam 
Weller came up to his master, and, whispering in his ear, begged to speak to him, with an 
air of the deepest mystery. 

" Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, " what 's the matter now? " 
" Here 's rayther a rum go, sir," replied Sam. 
" What? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

" This here, sir," rejoined Sam. " I 'm wery much afeered, sir, that the properiator o' 
this here coach is a-playin' some imperence vith us." 

" How is that, Sam? " said Mr. Pickwick: " aren't the names down on the way- 
bill?" 

"The names Is not only down on the vay-bill, sir," replied Sam; "but they 've 
painted vun on 'em up on the door o' the coach." As Sam spoke, he pointed to that part 
of the coach-door on which the proprietor's name usually appears; and there, sure 
enough, in gilt letters of a goodly size, was the magic name of Pickwick. 

" Dear met " exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the coincidence. " What a 
very extraordinary thing ! " 

" Yes ; but that ain't all," said Sam, again directing his master'i^attention to the coach- 
door. "Not content vith writin' up ' Pickwick,' they puts 'Moses ' afore it, vich I call 
addin' insult to injury, as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land, 
but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards." 

" It's odd enough, certainly, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. " But, if we stand talking here, 
*ve shall lose our places." 

" Wot 1 ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir ? " exclaimed Sam, perfectly aghast 
at the coolness with which Mr. Pickv/ick prepared to ensconce liimself inside. 
" Done I " said Mr. Pickwick ; " what should be done ? " 

" Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir ? " said Mr. Weller, who 
had expected that at least he would have been commissioned to challenge the guard and 
coachman to a pugilistic encounter on the spot 

"Certainly not," replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly ;—" not on any account. Jump up to 
yoarseat directly." 



20 2^1)^ Sickens ISfctfonarj. 

Ihe final issue of " The Pickwick Papers," comprising Parts 19 and 20, was 
in October, 1837. The complete work was now brought out in one volume, 
octavo, and was dedicated by the author to Mr. Serjeant Talfourd. See p. 543. 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED, 

AJlen, Arabella. Sister of Benjamin Allen ; afterwards the wife 
of Mr. Winkle. (Ch. xxviii, xxx, xxxix, xlviii, liii, liv, Ivi, Ivii.) 

Allen, Benjamin. A medical student, and the devoted friend of 
Mr. Bob Sawyer, to whom he purposes marrying his sister Ara- 
bella. 

" I designed 'em for each other; they were made for each other, sent into the 
world for each other, born for each other, Winlde," said Mr. Ben Allen, setting 
down his glass with great emphasis. " There 's a special destiny in the matter, 
my dear sir : there 's only five years' difference between 'em, and both their 
birth-days are in August." 

Mr. Allen does not succeed in his project, however, as Mr. 
Winkle, with the assistance of ]Mr. Pickwick, carries the girl off, 
and marries her without the consent of either her brother or Mr. 
Bob Sawyer. (Ch. xxx, xxxii, xxxviii, xlviii, 1, li, lii, Hv, Ivii.) 
See Sawyer, Bob. 

Ayresleigh, Mr. A prisoner for debt, whom Mr. Pickwick meets 
in the " coffee-room " at Coleman Street. (Ch. xl.) 

Bagman, The one-eyed. A stout, jovial, middle-aged man with 
a " lonely eye," whom Mr. Pickwick meets, first at the Peacock 
Inn, Eatanswill, and afterwards at the Bush, in Bristol. He is the 
narrator of " The Bagman's Story," and of " The Story of the 
Bagman's Uncle." (Ch. xiv, xlviii, xlix.) See Smart Tom. 

Bamber, Jack. A little, high-shouldered, keen-eyed old man, 
whom Mr. Pickwick casually meets at the Magpie and Stump. He 
relates « The Old Man's Tale about a Queer Client.'* (Ch. xx.) 

Banta-m, Angelo Cyrus, Esq., M.C. A charming young man 
of not much more than fifty, whom Mr. Pickwick meets at Bath ; 
friend to Capt. Dowler, and master of ceremonies at the ball which 
Mr. Pickwick attends. (Ch. xxxv.) 

Bardell, Mrs. Martha. Mr. Pickwick's landlady ; said to have 
been drawn from a certain Mrs. Ann Ellis, a comely and buxom 
woman of agreeable manners, who kept an eating-house in Knight- 
rider Street, near Doctors' Commons. Becoming impressed with 



2E!)e 33icltb)icfe 33apers. 21 

the idea that Mr. Pickwick has offered to marry her, she is highly 
indio-nant when she finds herself mistaken. In fact, she insists 
that she is not mistaken, and forthwith brings an action against him 
for breach of promise. For a full account of this famous trial, and 
its sequel, see Pickwick, Samuel. (Ch. xii, xxvi, xxxiv, xlvi.) 

Bardell, Master Tommy. The hopeful son of Mrs. BardelL 
(Ch. xii, xxvi, xlvi.) 

Betsey. Servant-girl at Mrs. Raddle's. (Ch. xxxii.) 

Bladud, Prince. Mythical founder of Bath ; hero of the " True 
Legend " discovered by Mr. Pickwick. (Ch. xxxvi.) 

Blotton, Mr. (of Aldgate). A member of the Pickwick Club. 
Having been accused by Mr. Pickwick, at a meeting of the club, of 
acting in " a vile and calumnious manner," he retorts by calling 
Mr. Pickwick " a humbug ; " but it finally being made to appear 
that they both used the words not in a common, -but in a parlia 
mentary or merely technical or constructive sense, and that each 
personally entertains the highest regard and esteem for the other, 
the difficulty is readily settled, and the gentlemen express them- 
selves mutually satisfied with the explanations which have been 
made. [This incident was intended to ridicule a somewhat similar 
one which took place in parliament about the time that " The Pick- 
wick Papers " first appeared.] (Ch. i.) 

Boldwig, Captain. A fierce little man, very consequential ana 
• imperious ; owner of the premises on whioh Mr. Pickwick and his 
friends trespass while hunting. Mr. Pickwick, having fallen asleep 
under the influence of too much cold punch, is left there by the 
rest of his party, and is discovered by the captain, who indig- 
nantly orders him to be taken to the pound in a wheelbarrow. 
(Ch. xix.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 

Bolo, Miss. A fashionable lady at Bath. (Ch. xxxv.) 

Budger, Mrs. A little old widow, with plenty of money ; Mr. 
Tupman's partner in a quadrille at the charity ball at the Bull Inn, 
Ptochester, which he attends in company with Mr. Jingle. (Ch. ii.) 

Bulder, Colonel. Head of the garrison at Rochester, and one of 
the company at the same ball. (Ch. ii, iv.) 

Bulder, Mrs. Colonel. His wife. (Ch. ii.) 

Bulder, Miss. Their daughter. (Ch. ii.) 

Buzfuz, Serjeant. Mrs. Bardell's counsel, remarkable for his 
brutal and bullying insolence to the witnesses on Mr. Pickwick's side ; 
«aid to represent a certain Serjeant Bumpus, a lawyer in London 



22 2Ci)c Bicfeens ©ictfonats. 

at the time " The Pickwick Papers " were written. (Ch. xxxiv.) See 

Pickwick, Samuel. 
Chancery Prisoner, The. An old man whose acquaintance 

Mr. Pickwick makes in the Fleet. He has been confined there for 

twenty years, but gets his release at last from the hands of his 

Maker, and accepts it with a smile of quiet satisfaction. (Ch. xlii. 

xliv.) 
Ca.ergyTnan, The. One of the guests at Mr. Wardle's. He sings 

the song of " The Ivy Green," and relates the story of " The Con- 
vict's Return." (Ch. vi, xi, xxviii.) 
Clubber, Sir Thomas. A fashionable gentleman at Rochester^ 

commissioner at the head of the dock-yard there. (Ch. ii.) 
Clubber, Lady. His wife. (Ch. ii.) 
Clubbers, The Miss. His daughters. (Ch. ii.) 
Cluppins, Mrs. Betsey. A bosom-friend of Mrs. Bardell's 

(Ch. xxvi, xxxiv, xlvi.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
Craddock, Mrs. Mr. Pickwick's landlady at Bath. (Ch. xxxvi, 

xxxvii.) 
Crookey. An attendant at the sponging-house in Coleman Street 

(Ch. xl.) 
Crushton, The Honorable Mr. A gentleman whom Mr. Pick 

wick meets at Bath ; a friend of Capt. Dowler's. (Ch. xxxv.) 
Dismal Jemmy. See Hutley, Jem. 
Dodson and Fogg. Attorneys for Mrs. Bardell. (Ch. xx, 

xxxiv, liii.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
Dowler, Captain. A blustering coward, formerly in the army, 

whom Mr. Pickwick meets at the travellers' room at the ^Vliite 

Horse Cellar. (Ch. xxxv, xxxvi, xxxviii.) 

The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is . . . divided into boxes for 
the solitary confinement of travellers ; and is furnished with a clock, a looking- 
glass, and a live waiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel for washing 
glasses, in a corner of the apartment. 

One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, by a stern-eyed 
man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and glossy forehead, with a good 
deal of black hair at the sides and back of his head, and large black wliiskers. 
He was buttoned up to the chin in a brown coat ; and had a large seal-skin trav- 
elling-cap, and a great-coat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He looked 
up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce and peremptory 
air, which was very dignified ; and, having scrutinized that gentleman and his 
companions to his entire satisfaction, hummed a tune in a manner which 
seemed to say that lie rather suspected somebody wa^ted to take the advantage 
of him ; but it would n't do. 

*' Waiter," said the gentleman with the whiskers. 



a:|)e |3icltb)fcfe ^papers. 23 

"Sir? "replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the same, 

emerging from the kennel before mentioned. 

" Some more toast." 

*'Yes, sir." 

" Buttered toast, mind," said the gentleman fiercely. 

"D'rectly, sir," replied the waiter. 

The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same manner as be- 
fore, and, pending the arrival of the toast, advanced to the front of the fire, and 
taking his coat-tails under his arms, looked at his boots, and ruminated. 

" I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up," said Mr. Pickwick, mildly 
addressing Mr. Winkle. 

" Hum — eh — what's that ? " said the strange man. 

" I made an observation to my friend, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, always ready 
to enter icto conversation. " I wondered at what house the Bath coach puts up. 
Perhaps you can inform me." 

" Ai-e you going to Bath ? " said the strange man. 

<' I am, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. 

" And those other gentlemen ?" 

*' They are going also," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Not inside I I 'm damned if you 're going inside 1 " said the strange man. 

" Not ail of us," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" No, not all of you," said the strange man emphatically. " I 've taken two 
places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal box that only holds 
four, I '11 take a post-chaise, and bring an action. I 've paid my fare. It won't do : 
I told the clerk that it wouldn 't do. I know these things have been done ; I know 
they are done every day : but I never was done, and I never will be. Those who 
know me best, best know it. Crush me ! " Here the fierce gentleman ran^ the 
bell with great violence, and told the waiter he 'd better bring the toast in five 
seconds, or he 'd know the reason why. 

" My dear sir," said Mr. Pickwick, " you '11 a)low me to observe that this is a 
very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only taken places inside for two." 

" I am glad to hear it," said the fierce man. " I withdraw my expressions. I 
tender an apology. There 's my card. Give me your acquaintance." 

" With great pleasure, sir," replied Mr. Piekwick. " We are to be fellow-trav- 
ellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society mutually agreeable." 

" I hope we shall," said the fierce gentleman. '' I know we shall. I like your 
looks: they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and names. Know me." 

Of course, an intercliange of friendly salutations follows -this gra- 
cious speech; and it is soon found that the second place in the coach 
has been taken for none other than the illustrious Mrs. Dowler. 

' She 's a fine woman," said Mr. Dowler. " I am proud of her. I have reason." 

'• I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging," said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile. 

'' You shall," replied Dowler. " She shall know you. She shall esteem you. 
I courted her under singular circumstances. I won her through a rash vow. 
Thus : I saw her ; I loved her ; I proposed ; she refused me. ' You love another ? ' 
— ' Spare my blushes. ' — ' I know him. ' — ' You do ? ' — ' Very good, if he remains 
here, I '11 skin him.' " 

" Lord bless me ! " exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily. 

" Did you skin the gentleman, sir .?" inquired Mr. Winkle with a very pale face 
' I wrote him a note. I said it was a painful thing. And so it was." 



24 ®i)^ ©icftcns JBictConarj, 

** Certainly," interposed Mr. Winkle. 

" I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My character 
was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in his Majesty's service, I was 
bound to skin him. I regretted the necessity ; but it must be done. He was 
open to conviction. He saw that the rules of the service were imperative. 
He fled. I married her. Here's the coach. That's her head." 

Dowler, Mrs. Wife of Capt. Dowler. (Ch. xxxv, xxxvi.) 

Dubbley. One of the special officers of the Mayor's Court at Ips- 
wich ; a dirty-faced man, over six feet high, and stout in proportion. 
(Ch. xxiv.) See Nupkins, George. 

Diimkins, Mr. A member of the All-Muggleton Cricket Club. 
(Ch. vii.) 

Edmunds, John. Hero of the story of " The Convict's Return ; " 
a sullen, wilful young man, condemned to death for crime, but, 
by commutation of his sentence, transported for fourteen years. 
A repentant and altered man, he returns to his old home, only to 
find his mother buried, and to see his father die suddenly from the 
effects of passion and terror, — the same hard-hearted and ferocious 
brute that he had always known him. (Ch. vi.) 

Edmunds, Mr. His father ; a morose, dissolute, and savage-hearted 
man. (Ch. vi.) 

Edmunds, Mrs. His mother ; a gentle, ill-used, and heart-broken 
woman. (Ch. vi.) 

Emma. A servant-girl at Mr. Wardle's. (Ch. xxviii.) 

Fitz-Marshall, Charles. See Jingle, Alfred. 

Fizkin, Horatio, Esq. (of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill). A 
candidate for parliament, defeated by the Honorable Samuel Slum- 
key. (Ch. xiii.) See Slumkey, The Honorable Samuel. 

Flasher, "Wilkins. A stock-broker. (Ch. Iv.) 

Fogg, Mr. See Dodson and FoGG. 

Goodwin. Servant to Mrs. Pott. (Ch. xviii.) 

G-roffin, Thomas. One of the jury in the case of Bardell vs. 
Pickwick. He desires to be excused from attendance on the ground 
that he is a chemist, and has no assistant. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

" I can't help that, sir," replied Mr. Justice Stareleigh : " you should hire 
one.'* 

" I can't afford it, my lord," rejoined the chemist. 

** Then you ought to be able to afford it, sir," said the judge, reddening; 
for Mr. Justice Stareleigh's temper bordered on the irritable, and brooked not 
contradiction. ..." Swear the gentleman." . . . 

u Very well, my lord," replied the chemist in a resigned manner. " Then 
there '11 be murder before this trial 's over : that 's all. Swear me, if you please, 



5N 33icfetoic!t 39apet». 25 

sir." And sworn the chemist was before the judge could find words to 
utter. 

" I merely wanted to observe, my lord," said the chemist, taking his seat 
with great deliberation, '' that I 've left nobody but an errand-boy in my shop. 
He is a very nice boy, my lord ; but he is not acquainted with drugs : and I know 
that the prevailing impression on his mind is, that Epsom salts mean oxalic 
acid ; and syrup of senna, laudanum. That's all, my lord." 

Grub, Gabriel. Hero of Mr. Wardle's " Story of the Goblins who 
stole a Sexton ; " a cross-grained, surly, solitary fellow, who is made 
good-natured and contented by his remarkable experiences on 
Christmas Eve. (Ch. xxix.) 

Grummer, Daniel. A constable in attendance upon the Mayor's 
.Court at Ipswich. (Ch. xxiv, xxv.) See Nupkins, George. 

Grundy, Mr. A friend of ISii-. Lowten's, and a frequenter of the 
Magpie and Stump Inn. (Ch. xx.) 

Gunter, Mr. A friend of Mr. Bob Sawyer's. (Ch. xxxii.) 

Gwynn, Miss. Writing and ciphering governess at Westgate 
House Establishment for Young Ladies, at Bury St. Edmunds. 
(Ch. xvi.) 

Harris. A green-grocer. (Ch. xxxviii.) 

Henry. A character in " The Parish Clerk ; '* cousin to Maria 
Lobbs, whom he finally marries. (Ch. xvii.) 

Heyling, George. Hero of " The Old Man's Tale about a 
Queer Client." He is a prisoner for debt in the Marshalsea. Dur- 
ing his confinement, his little boy is taken sick and dies ; and his 
wife, who thereupon shares- her husband's lot, soon follows, sinking 
uncomplainingly under the combined effects of bodily and mental 
illness. Released from prison by the sudden death of his father, a 
very wealthy man who had disowned him, and had meant to disin- 
herit him, he devotes himself unremittingly to avenge the death of 
his wife and child upon his wife's father, who had cast him into 
prison, and had spurned daughter and grandchild from his door 
when they sued at his feet for mercy. In this scheme of vengeance 
he is successful, sufiering the old man's boy to drown before his 
eyes, though he might easily have saved him, and afterwards pur- 
suing the father until he reduces him to utter destitution. He 
intends to consign him to the hopeless imprisonment which he had 
himself so long endured, but, on announcing his purpose, his victim 
fpvlls lifeless, and Heyling disappears, leaving no clew to his subse- 
quent history. (Ch. xxi.) 

Heyling, Mary, His wife. (Ch. xxi.) 

3 



26 8C|)e IBfcfeens Sfctfonatg. 

Hopkins, Jack. A medical student, whom Mr. Pickwick meetl 
at 'Mr. Bob Sawyer's party. (Ch. xxxii.) 

" I hope that 's Jack Hopkins," said Mr. Bob Sawyer. " Hush I Yes : it 
is. Come up. Jack; come up!" 

A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins presented 
himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat with thunder-and-lightning but- 
tons, and a blue striped shirt with a white false collar. 
"You 'relate. Jack," said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 
" Been detained at Bartholomew's," replied Hopkins. 
*' Any thing new ? " 

" No : nothing particular. Kather a good accident brought into the casu- 
alty ward." 

" What was that, sir ? " inquii-ed Mr. Pickwick. 

"Only a man fallen out of a four-pair-of-stairs window; but it 's a very 
fair case, — very fair case, indeed." 

" Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover ? " inquired Mr 
Pickwick. 

" No," replied Hopkins carelessly. " No, I should rather say he would n't. 
There must be a splendid operation though, to-morrow, — magnificent sight 
if Slasher does it 1 " 

" You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator ? " said Mr. Pickwick. 
" Best alive I " replied Hopkins. " Took a boy's leg out of the socket last week, 
— boy ate five apples and a gingerbread-cake. Exactly two minutes after it 
was all over, boy said he would n't lie there to be made game of; and he 'd tell 
his mother if they did n't begin." 

" Dear me I " said Mr. Pickwick, astonished. 

"Pooh! that 's nothing, — that ain't," said Jack Hopkins. "Is it, Bob?" 
" Nothing at all," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. 

"By the by. Bob," said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible glance at Mr. 
Pickwick's attentive face, " we had a curious accident last night. A child 
was brought in who had swallowed a necklace.'' 

" Swallowed what, sir ? " interrupted Sir. Pickwick. 

" A necklace," replied Jack Hopkins. " Not all at once : you know that 
would be too much. You could n't swallow that, if the child did, — eh, Mr. Pick- 
wick? Ha, ha I " Mr. Hopkins appeared highly gratified with his own pleas- 
antry, and continued, " No, the way was this : child's parents were poor peo- 
ple who lived in a court. Child's eldest sister bought a necklace, — common 
necklace, made of large black wooden beads. Child, being fond of toys, cribbcn 
the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and swallowed a bead. 
Child thought it capital fun; went back next day, and swallowed another bead." 
"Bless my heart," said Mr. Pickwick, " what a dreadful thing I I beg 
your pardon, sir. Go on." 

" Next day, child swallowed two beads ; the day after that, he treated him- 
self to three ; and so on, till in a week's time he had got through the necklace, — 
five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister, who was an industrious girl, and sel- 
dom treated herself to a bit of finery, cried her eyes out at the loss of the 
necklace ; looked high and low for it ; but, I need n't say, did n't find it. A few 
days after, the family were at dinner : the child, who was n't hungry, was play- 
ing about the room, when suddenly there was heard a devil of a noise, like a 
small hail-storm. ' Don't do that, ray boy,' said the father. ' I ain't a-doin' 
nothin',' said the child. < Well, don't do it again,' said the father. There was a 



arte 3?fclttDic!t papers. 2\ 

short silence, and then the noise began again worse than ever. * If you don't 
mind what I say, my boy,' said the father, ' you '11 find yourself in bed in some- 
thing less than a pig's whisper.' He gave the child a shake to make him obe- 
dient; and such a rattling ensued as nobody ever heard before. ' Why, damme, 
it 's in the child I ' said the father. ' He 's got the croup in the wrong place ! ' 
— 'No, I haven't, father,' said the child, beginning to cry. 'It's the neck- 
lace : I swallowed it, father.' The father caught the child up, and ran with him 
to the hospital ; the beads iu the boy's stomach rattling all the way with the jolt- 
ing, and the people looking up in the air, and down in the cellars, to see where 
the unusual sound came from. He 's in the hospital now," said Jack Hopkins; 
" and he makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they 'ro 
obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should wake the pa- 
tients." 

Humm, Anthony. Cliairman of the Brick Lane Branch of the 

United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association. (Ch. 

xxxiii.) See Weller, Samuel. 
Hunt. Gardener to Captain Boldwig. (Ch. xix.) 
Hunter, Mrs. Leo. A literary lady whom Mr. Pickwick meets 

at Eatanswill. (Ch. xv.) One morning, Sam Weller hands Mr. 

Pickwick a card bearing the following inscription : — 



Mxs, %ta i^tinter. 

The Den. Eatanswill. 



" Person 's'a-waitin'," said Sam epigrammatically. 

" Does the person want me, Sam ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

" He wants you partickler ; and no one else '11 do, as the Devil's private 8eo» 
retary said ven he fetched avay Dr. Faustus," replied Mr. Weller. 

" He 7 Is it a gentleman ? " said Mr. Pickwick. 

" A werry good imitation o' one, if it ain't," replied Mr. "Weller. 

"But this is a lady's card," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Given me by a gen'lm'n, hows'ever," replied Sam; " and he 's a-waitin' in 
the drawing-room — said he 'd rather wait all day than not see you." 

Mr. Pickwick, on hearing this determination, descended to the drawing- 
room, where sat a grave man, who started up on his entrance, and said with 
an air of profound respect, — 

"Mr. Pickwick, I presume ? " 

" The same." 

" Allow me, sir, the honor of grasping your hand — permit me, sir, to shake 
it," said the grave man. 

" Certainly," said Mr. Pickwick. 

"The stranger shook the extended hand, and then continued, — 

" We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of your antiquarian discus- 
sion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Hunter, — my wife, sir: / am Mr. Leo 
Hunter." The stranger paused, as if he expected that Mr. Pickwick would be 
overcome by the disclosure ; but, seeing that he remained perfectly calm, pro- 
ceeded,— 



28 8ri)f HBlc'ktns Bfctfonarg. 

"My wife, sir, — Mrs. Leo Hunter, — is proud to number among her acquaint- 
ance all those who have rendered themselves celebrated by their works and 
talents. Permit me, sir, to place in a conspicuous part of the list the name of Mr. 
Pickwick, and his brother-members of the club that derives its name from him." 

*' I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of such a lady, sir," 
replied JMr. Pickwick. 

"You shall make it, sir," said the grave man. " To-morrow morning, sir, we 
give a public breakfast — a fete champetre — to a great number of those who have 
rendered themselves celebrated by their works and talents. Permit Mrs. Leo 
Hunter, sir, to have the gratification of seeing you at the Den." 

" With great pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick. 

*'Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, sir," resumed the new ac- 
quaintance,— " 'feasts of reason, sir, and flows of soul,' as somebody who wrote 
a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on her breakfasts, feelingly and originally observed." 

" "Was he celebrated for Ms works and talents ?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
"He was, sir," replied the grave man. "All Mrs. Leo Hunter's acquaintance 
are : it is her ambition, sir, to have no other acquaintance." 

"It is a very noble ambition," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell from yotcr lips, sir, 
she will indeed be proud," said the grave man. " You have a gentleman iu your 
train who has produced some beautiful little poems, I think, sir." 

"My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry," replied Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

" So has 3Irs. Leo Hunter, sir. She doats on poetry, sir. She adores it ; I may 
say that her whole soul and mind are wound up and intwined with it. She has 
produced some delightful pieces herself, sir. You may have met with her * Ode to 
Hn Expiring Frog,' sir." 

" I don't think I have," said Mr. Pickwick. 

"You astonish me, sir," said Mr. Leo Hunter. "It created an immense sensa- 
tion. It was signed with an ' L ' and eight stars, and appeared originally in a 
Lady's Magazine. It commenced : — 

* Can I view thee panting, lying 
On thy stomach, without sighing; 
Can I unmoved see thee dying 

On a log. 
Expiring frog ! ' " 

" Beautiful I " said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Fine," said Mr. Leo Hunter ; " so simple I " 

" Very," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it ?** 

"If you please," said Mr. Pickwick. 

*• It runs thus," said the grave man still more gravely: — 

" ' Say, have fiends in shape of boys. 
With wild halloo and brutal noise. 
Hunted thee from marshy joys. 

With a dog. 

Expiring frog?*** 

" Finely expressed," said Mr. Pickwick. 

"All point, sir, all point," said Mr. Leo Hunter; " bat you shall hear Hrs. Lea 
Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, sir." 



Sr|)e ^fckintcS; papers. 29 

Hunter, Mr. Leo. Mrs. Leo Hunter's husband. (Ch. xv.) 

Hutley, Jem, called " Dismal Jemmy." An itinerant actor, who 
" does the heavy business ; " brother to Job Trotter, and friend ot 
]\Ir. Alfred Jingle, who introduces him to Mr. Pickwick. He 
relates to them " The Stroller's Tale," in which he himself figures. 
(Ch. iii, V.) See John. 

Isaac. A friend of Mr. Jackson's. (Ch. xlvi.) 

Jackson, Mr. A clerk in the office of Dodson and Fogg. (Ch. 
XX, xxxi, xlvi.) 

Jemmy, Dismal. See Hutley, Jem. 

Jingle, Alfred. ' An impudent strolling actor, who palms himself 
off on Mr. Pickwick and his travelling-companions of the club as a 
gentleman of consequence, sponges good dinners and borrows money 
from them, and finally gets into the Fleet prison, where, some time 
afterwards, Mr. Pickwick finds him in great destitution and dis- 
tress, and benevolently pays his debts and releases him, on satis- 
factory evidence of penitence, and on promise of reformation, which 
is faithfully kept. JMr. Jingle is a very loquacious person, talking 
incessantly ; rarely speaking a connected sentence, however, but 
stringing together mere disjointed phrases, generally without verbs. 
He first meets Mr. Pickwick and his party at the coach-stand in 
Saint Martin's-le-Grand. 

" Heads, heads ; take care of your heads I " cried the loquacious stranger, as 
they came out under the low archway, which in those days formed the entrance 
to the coach-yard. "Terrible place — dangerous work — other day — five chil- 
dren — mother — tall lady, eating sandwiches— -forgot the arch — crash — knock 

children look round — mother's head off— sandwich in her hand — no mouth 

to put it in — head of a family off— shocking, shocking I Looking at Whitehall, 
sir ? — fine place — little window — somebody else's head off there, eh, sir ? — he 
did n't keep a sharp lookout enough, either — eh, sir, eh ?" 

" I was ruminating," said Mr. Pickwick, " on the strange mutability of hu- 
man affairs." 

"Ah! I see — in at the palace-door one day, out at the window tlie next. 
Philosopher, sir ? " 

" An observer of human nature, sir," said Mr. Pickwick. 

"Ah, so am I. Most people are when they 've little to do, and less to get 
Poet, sir ? " 

" My friend Mr. Suodgrass has a strong poetic turn," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" So have I," said the stranger. " Epic poem, — ten thousand lines — revolu- 
tion of July — composed it on the spot — Mars by day, Apollo by night, — bang 
the field-piece, twang the lyre." 

"You were present at that glorious scene, sir?" said Mr. Snodgrass. 

" Present I think I was ; fired a musket, — fired with an idea, — rushed Into a 
wineshop — wrote it down — back again — whiz, bang — another idea — wine- 
3* 



30 SSe 3j9fcfeens Bfctionats. 

shop again — pen and ink — back again — cut and slash — noble time, sir. 
Bportsman, sir?" abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle. 

"A little, sir," replied that gentleman. 

" Fine pursuit, sir, — fine pursuit. — Dogs, sir ? " 

*' Not just now," said Mr. Winkle. 

"Ah I you should keep dogs — fine animals — sagacious creatures — dog of 
my own once — pointer — surprising instinct — out shooting one day — entering 
enclosure — whistled — dog stopped — whistled again — Ponto — no go: stock- 
Btill —called him — Ponto, Ponto — would n't move — dog transfixed — staring at 
a board — looked up, saw an inscription — * Gamekeeper has orders to shoot all 
dogs found in this enclosure' — wouldn't pass it — wonderful dog — valuable 
dog that — very." 

" Singular circumstance that," said Mr, Pickwick. *' Will you allow me to 
make a note of it ? " 

" Certainly, sir, certainly — hundred more anecdotes of the same animal. — 
Fine girl, sir " (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowing sundry anti- 
Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the road-side). 

" Very I " said Mr. Tupman. 

"English girls not so fine as Spanish — noble creatures — jet hair — black 
eyes — lovely forms — sweet creatures — beautiful 1 " 

" You have been in Spain, sir ? " said Mr, Tracy Tupman. 

" Lived there — ages." 

"Many conquests, sir?" inquired Mr. Tupman. 

"Conquests I Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizzgig — Grandee — only daughter 

— Donna Christina — splendid creature — loved me to distraction — jealous 
father — high-souled daughter — handsome Englishman — Donna Christina in 
despair — prussic acid — stomach-pump in my portmanteau — operation pe> 
formed — old Bolaro in ecstasies — consent to our union — join hands and floods 
of tears — romantic story — very." 

" Is the lady in England now, sir ? " inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom the de- 
scription of her charms had produced a powerful impression. 

" Dead, sir — dead," said the stranger, applying to his right eye the brief rem- 
nant of a very old cambric handkerchief. " Never recovered the stomach-pump 

— undermined constitution — fell a victim." 

" And her father ? " inquired the poetic Snodgrass. 

" Remorse and misery," replied the stranger. " Sudden disappearance — talk 
of the whole city — search made everywhere — without success — public foun- 
tain in the great square suddenly ceased playing — weeks elapsed — still a stop- 
page — workmen employed to clean it — water drawn off — father-in-law discov- 
ered sticking head first in the main pipe, with a full confession in his right boot 

— took him out and the fountain plaj-ed away again as well as ever." 

"Will you allow me to note that little romance down, sir?" said Mr. Snod- 
grass, deeply affected. 

" Certainly, sir, certainly, — fifty more if you like to hear 'em — strange life 
mine — rather curious history — not extraordinary, but singular." 

(Ch. ii, iii, vii — x, xv, xxv, xlii, xlv, xlvii, liii.) See Winkle, 
Nathaniel. 

Jinks, Mr. A pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily-clad clerk of 
the Mayor's Court at Ipswicli. (Ch. xxiv, xxv.) See Nupkins, 
George. 



S;!)e ^CcfetstcS; papers. 31 

Jinkins, Mr. A character in " The Bagman's Story ; " a rascally 
adventurer with a wife and six babes, — all of them small ones, — 
who tries to marry a buxom widoAV, the landlady of a roadside inn, 
but is prevented by Tom Smart, who marries her himself. (Ch. xiv.) 

Joe, the Fat Boy. Servant to Mr. Wardle ; a youth of astonish- 
ing obesity and voracity, who has a way of going to sleep on the 
slightest provocation, and in all sorts of places and attitudes. Mr. 
Wardle, having met Mr. Pickwick and his friends at a grand review 
at Rochester, invites them into his carriage for a lunch. 

" Joe, Joe I " said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, and Hit 
besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. " Damn that boy I he 's gone to 
sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir, — in the leg, if you please: 
nothing else wakes him. Thankj^oul Undo the hamper, Joe." 

The fat boy, who had been eflfectually roused by the compression of a por- 
tion of his leg between the finger and thumb of Mr. Winkle, rolled ofi* the box 
once again, and proceeded to unpack the hamper, with more expedition than 
could have been expected from his previous inactivity. 

" No%v, we must sit close," said the stout gentleman. After a great many 
jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of blushing at 
sundry jocose proposals that the ladies should sit in the gentlemen's laps, the 
whole party were stowed dow^n in the barouche ; and the stout gentleman pro- 
ceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who had mounted up behind for 
the purpose) into the carriage. 

" Now, Joe, knives and forks I " The knives and forks were handed in; and 
the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were each furnished 
with those useful implements. 

"Plates, Joe, plates I" A similar propess employed in the distribution of 
the crockery. 

" Now, Joe, the fowls. — Damn that boyl he's gone to sleep again. Joe, 
Joe I " (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some diffi- 
culty, roused from his lethargy.) " Come, hand in the eatables." 

There was something in the sound of the last word, which roused the unctu- 
ous boy. He jumped up ; and the leaden eyes, which twinkled behind his moun- 
tainous cheeks, leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it from the 
basket. 

" Now, make haste," said Mr. Wardle ; for the fat boy was hanging fondly 
over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy sighed 
deeply, 'and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly consigned 
it to his master. 

(Ch. iv -ix, xxviii, liv, Ivi.) 

John. A low pantomime actor, and an habitual drunkard, whose 
death is described in " The Stroller's Tale," related to Mr. Pick- 
wick and his friends by Mr. Hutley. (Ch. iii.) 

Klate. A character in the story of " The Parish Clerk ; " cousin to 
Maria Lobbs. (Ch. xvii.) 

Lobbs, Maria. A character in ^Ir. Pickwick's story of " The Par- 



32 2C!)e Bicfeens Bfctfonarj. 

ish Clerk ; " a pretty girl, beloved by Nathaniel Pipkin, and also 
by her cousin Henry, whom she marries. (Ch. xvii.) 

Lobbs, Old. Father to Maria Lobbs ; a rich saddler, and a terrible 
old fellow wben his pride is injured, or his blood is up. (Ch. xvii.) 

Lowten, Mr. A puffy-faced young man, clerk to IMi'. Perker. 
(Ch. XX, xxi, xxxi, xxxiv, xl, xlvii, liii, liv.) 

Lucas, Solomon. A costumer. (Ch. xv.) 

Luffey, Mr. Vice-president of the Dingley Dell Cricket Club. 
(Ch. vii.) 

Magnus, Peter. A red-hau'ed man, with an inquisitive nose and 
blue spectacles, who is a fellow-traveller with Mr. Pickwick from 
London to Ipswich. The two gentlemen chat cosily on the road, 
and dine together on their arrival at " The Great White Horse " 
inn. Mr. Magnus, being naturally of a veiy communicative dispo- 
sition, and made more so by the brandy and water he drinks, confi- 
dentially informs Mr. Pickwick that he has come down to Ipswich 
to propose to a certain lady who is even then in the same house. 
The next morning at breakfast he recurs to the same subject, and 
the following conversation takes place : — 

" I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done this sort of thing 
in your time ?" said Mr. Magnus. 

*' You mean proposing ?" said Mr. Pickwick. 

"Yes." 

" Never I " said Mr. Pickwick with great energy, — " never I " 

" You have no idea, then, how it 's best to begin ? " said Mr. Magnus. 

"Why," said Mr. Pickwick, '* I may have formed some ideas upon the sub- 
ject; but, as I have never submitted them to the test of experience, I should be 
sorry if you were induced to regulate your proceedings by them." 

" I should feel very much obliged to you for any advice," said Mr. Magnus, 
taking another look at the clock, the hand of which was verging on the five min- 
utes past. 

" Well, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with which 
that groat man could, when he pleased, render his remarks so deeply impres- 
sive, " 1 should commence, sir, with a tribute to the lady's beauty and excellent 
qualities ; from them, sir, I should diverge to my own unworthiness." 

"Very good," said Mr. Magnus. 

" Unworthiness for her only, mind, sir," resumed Mr. Pickwick; "for to 
show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a brief review of my 
past life and present condition. I should argue, by analogy, that, to anybody 
else, I must be a very desirable object. I should then expatiate on the warmth 
of my love and the depth of my devotion. Perhaps I might then be tempted to 
seize her hand." 

" Yes, I see," said Mr. Magnus : " that would be a very great point." 

" I should then, sir," continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as the subject 
presented itself in more glowing colors before him, — " I should then, sir, come 



to the plain and simple question, * Will you have me ? ' I think I am justified 
In assuming, that, upon this, she would turn away her head." 

"You think that maybe taken for granted?" said Mr. Magnus; "because, if 
she did not do that" at the right place, it would be embarrassing." 

" I think she would," said Mr. Pickwick. " Upon this, sir, I should squeeze 
her hand, and 1 think, — I think, Mr. Magnus, — that after I had done that, suppos- 
ing there was no refusal, I should gently draw away the handkerchief, which my 
slight knowledge of human nature leads me to suppose the lady would be applying 
to her eyes at the moment, and steal a respectful kiss. I think I should kiss her, 
Mr. Magnus; and, at this particular point, I am decidedly of opinion, that, if the 
lady were going to take me at all, she Avould murmur into my ear a bashful accept- 
ance." 

Mr. Magnus started, gazed on Mr. Pickwick's intelligent face for a short time 
in silence, and tlien (the dial pointing to the ten minutes past) shook him warmly 
by the hand, and rushed desperately from the room. 

Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro ; and the small hand of the 
clock, following the latter part of his example, had arrived at the figure which 
indicates the half-hour, when the door suddenly opened. He turned round to 
greet Mr. Peter Magnus, and encountered, in his stead, the joyous face of Mr. 
Tupman. the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and the intellectual lineaments 
of Mr. Snodgrass. 

As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped into the room. 

" My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of, — Mr. Magnus," — said Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

''Your servant, gentlemen," said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high state of 
excitement. " Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you, one moment, sir." 

As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. Pickwick's buttoii- 
hole, and, drawing him into a window-recess, said, — 

" Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick : I followed your advice to the very letter." 

" And it was all correct, was it ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

" It was, sir, — could not possibly have been better," replied Mr. Magnus. " Mr. 
Pickwick, she is mine I " 

'' I congratulate you with all my heart," replied Mr. Pickwick, warmly shaking 
his new friend by the hand. 

"You must see her, sir," said Mr. Magnus : "this way, if you please. Excuse 
us for one instant, gentlemen." And, hurrying on in this way, Mr. Peter Magnus 
drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He paused at the next door in the passage, 
and tapped gently thereat. 

" Come in," said a female voice. And in they went. 

Now, it has unfortunately happened that Mr. Pickwick, on the 
night of their arrival, had occasion to leave his room to get his watch, 
which he had left on a table down stairs. Returning in the dark, he 
lost his way, and groped about in search of his room for a long time. 

A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bedroom-door which resem- 
bled his own, when a gruff cry from within, of" Who the devil 's that ? " or " What do 
you want here ? " caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous 
celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted 
flis attention. He peeped in — right at last I There were the two beds, whose 
situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning. His candle, not a 
long one when he first received it, had flickered away in the draughts of air through 



34 S!)e Bfcfeens JSictfonarg. 

Which he had passed, and sunk into the socket just as he closed the door after b(m. 
" No matter," said Mr. Pickwick : " I can undress myself just as well by the light 
of the fire." 

The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on the inner side of 
each was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, just wide enough to 
admit of a person's getting into or out of bed on that side, if he or she thought 
proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pick- 
wick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his 
shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neck- 
cloth, and, slowly drawing on his tasselled night-cap, secured it firmly on his head 
by tying beneath his chin the strings which he had always attached to that article 
of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck 
upon his mind; and, throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pick- 
wick laughed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to 
any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles which expanded his 
amiable features as they shone forth from beneatii the night-cap. 

'' It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked 
the nightcap-strings, — " it is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and 
wandering about those staircases, that 1 ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll I " 
Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to 
continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humor, when he was sud- 
denly stopped by a most unexpected interruption ; to wit, the entrance into the 
room of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the 
dressing-table, and set down the light upon it. 

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneously lost in 
a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. Tlie person, who- 
ever it was, had come in so suddenly, and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick 
had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be ? A robber ! 
Some evil-minded person who had seen him come up stairs with a handsome watch 
in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do ! 

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious 
visitor, with the least danger of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed, 
and peeping out from between the curtains on the opposite side. To this manoeuvre 
he accordingly resorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hands, so 
that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and night-cap, and putting 
on his spectacles, he mustered up courage and looked out. 

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the 
dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in 
brushing what ladies call their '' back hair." However the unconscious middle-aged 
lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there 
for the night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with 
praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, 
where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly small 
piece of water. 

'' Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, ''what a dreadful thing 1 " 

" Hem I " said the old lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with automaton- 
like rapidity. 

" I never met with any thing so awful as this I " thought poor Mr. Pickwick, 
the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his night-cap, — " never I This is 
fearful I " 

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was gcing for- 
ward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was woise than 



before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair, and carefully envel- 
oped it in a muslin night-cap with a small plaited border ; and was gazing pensively 
on the fire. 

** This matter is growing alarming," reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself. 
"1 can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession of that lady, 
it 's clear to me that I must have come into the wrong room. If I call out, she '11 
alarm the house ; but, il* I remain here, the consequence will be still more frightful." 

Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modest and 
delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his night-cap to a ladj 
overpowered him; but he had tied these confounded strings in a knot, and, do whal 
he would, he could n't get it off. The disclosure must be made. There was onlj 
one other way of doing it. He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out very 
loudly, — 

" Hit, hum . " 

That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident by her falling up 
against the rushlight-shade : that she persuaded herself it must have been the 
effect of imagination was equally clear; for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impres- 
sion that she had fainted awa)', stone-dead, from fright, ventured to peep out again, 
she was gazing pensively on the fire as before. 

"Most extraordinary female this I " thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in again. 
" Ha, hum 1 " 

These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, the ferocious 
giant Pjlunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinion that it was time to 
lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible to be again mistaken for the workings of 
fancy. 

" Gracious Heaven I " said the middle-aged lady, " what 's that ? " 

''It 's — it 's — only a gentleman, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick from behind the 
curtains. 

" A gentleman I " said the lady with a terrific scream. 

" It 's all over," thought Mr. Pickwick. 

" A strange man ! " shrieked the lady. Another instant, and the house would be 
alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door. 

'' Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremif y of his 
desperation, — " ma'am." 

Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object in putting 
out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good effect. The lady, as we 
have already stated, was near the door. She must pass it to reach the staircase, 
and she would most undoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the sudden 
apparition of Mr. Pickwick's night-cap driven her back into the remotest corner 
of the apartment, where she stood stai ng wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pick- 
wick, in his turn, stared wildly at her. 

" Wretch I " said the lad}--, covering her eyes with her hands, " what do you 
want here ? " 

" Nothing, ma'am, — nothing whatever, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick earnestly. 

" Nothing 1 " said the lady, looking up. 

" Nothing, ma'am, upon my honor," said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so 
energetically, that the tassel of his night-cap danced again. "I am almost 
ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing a lady in my night-cap 
'here the lady hastily snatched off hers) ; but I can't get it off, ma'am (here Mr. 
Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug in proof of the statement). It is evident to me, 
ma'am, now, that I have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I had not been 
here five minutes, ma'am, when you suddenly entered it." 



36 2r|)e 3i(ci^ens ISCcttonavs. 

" If this improbable story be really true, sir," said the lady, sobbing violently, 
" you will leave it instantly." 

" I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick. 

" Instantly, sir," said the lady. 

" Certainly, ma'am," interposed Mr. Pickwick very quickly, — " certainly, ma'am. 
I — I — am very sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, making his appearance at the 
bottom of the bed, " to have been the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion, 
— deeply sorry, ma'am." 

The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick's char- 
acter was beautifully displayed at this moment under the most trying circum- 
stances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over his night-cap, after the 
manner of the old patrol; although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, 
and his coat and waistcoat over his arm, — nothing could subdue his native polite* 
ness. 

" I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low. 

" If you are, sir, you will at once leave the room," said the lady. 

"Immediately, ma'am, — this instant, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, opening 
the door, and dropping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing. 

" I trust, ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and turning 
round to bow again, — "I trust, ma'am, that my unblemished character, and the 
devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for 
this " — But, before Mr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust 
him into the passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him. 

Mr. Pickwick finally encounters Sam Weller, his valet, who leads 
him to his room ; but this night-adventure distm'bs him considerably. 
The remembrance of it wears away, however, and, at the moment of 
being introduced by Mr. Magnus to his betrothed, the occurrence is 
not in his mind at all. 

"Miss Witherfield," said Mr. Magnus, "allow me to introduce my very par- 
ticular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to make you known to Miss 
Witherfield." 

The lady was at the upper end of the room; and, as Mr. Pickwick bowed, he 
took his spectacles from his waistcoat-pocket, and put them on, — a process which 
he had no sooner gone through, than, uttering an exclamation of surprise, Mr. 
Pickwick retreated several paces, and the lady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid 
her face in her hands, and dropped into a chair; whereupon Mr. Peter Magnus 
was struck motionless on the spot, and gazed from one to the other with a coun- 
tenance expressive of the extremities of horror and surprise. 

This certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable behavior: but the 
fact was, that Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on his spectacles than he at once rec- 
ognized in the future lilrs. Magnus the lady into whose room he had so unwar- 
rantably intruded on the previous night; and the spectacles had no sooner crossed 
Mr. Pickwick's nose than the lady at once identified the countenance which she 
had seen surrounded by all the horrors of a night-cap. So the lady screamed, and 
Mr. Pickwick started. 

" Mr. Pickwick I " exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment, "what is the 
meaning of this, sir? What is the meaning of it, sir?" added Mr. Magnus, in a 
threatening and a louder tone. 

" Sir," said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very sudden manner in 



which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into the imperative mood, 
" I decline answering that question." 

" You decline it, sir ?" said Mr. Magnus. 

" I do, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. " I object to saying any thing which may 
compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections in her breast, with- 
out her consent and permission." 

"Miss "Witherfield," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "do you know this person?" 

*' Know him I " repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating. 

" Yes, know him, ma'am. I said know him," replied Mr. Magnus with fero- 
city. 

" I have seen him," replied the middle-aged lady. 

" Where ? " inquired Mr. Magnus, — " where ? " 

" That," said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and averting her 
head, — " that I would not reveal for worlds." 

"I understand you, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, " and respect your delicacy. 
It shall never be revealed by me, depend upon it." 

This, of course, makes Mr. Magnus very angry ; and he proceeds 
to work himself into a red-hot, scorching, consuming passion, and 
indulges freely in threats of a duel. Miss Witherfield, however, 
contrives to settle matters by informing the mayor that Mr. Pick- 
wick is about to fight a duel, in which Mr. Tupman proposes to act 
as his second, and that the other party has absconded. The sequel 
is, that Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman are arrested, and taken 
before the mayor. For proceedings at the trial see Nuprins, 
George. (Ch. xxii, xxiv.) 

Mallard, Mr. Clerk to Mr. Serjeant Snubbin. (Ch. xxxi, xxxiv.) 

Martin, Mr. A prisoner confined in the Fleet prison. (Ch. xlii.) 

Martin. A coachman. (Ch. xlviii.) 

Martin. A gamekeeper. (Ch. xix.) 

Martin, Jack. Hero of " The Story of the Bagman's Uncle." 

(Ch. xlix.) 
Mary. A servant-girl at Mr. Nupkins's ; afterwards married to Sam 

Weller. (Ch. xxv, xxxix, xlvii, lii, liv, Ivi.) 
Matinters, The two Miss. Ladies attending the ball at 

Bath. (Ch. xxxv.) 
Miller, Mr. A guest at Mr. Wardle's. (Ch. vi, xxviii.) 
Mivins, Mr., called the " Zephyr." A fellow-prisoner with 

Mr. Pickwick in the Fleet. (Ch. xli, xlii.) 
Mudge, Mr. Jonas. Secretary of the Brick Lane Branch of the 

United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association. (Ch. 

xxxiii.) 

Mutanhed, Lord. A fashionable gentleman whom Mr. Pickwick 
4 



38 ®N Hfcfeeits JBfctfonarg. 

meets at a ball in Bath ; a friend of Captain and Mrs. Dowler. (Ch. 

XXXV.) 

Muzzle, Mr. An undersized footman, with a long body and short 

legs, in the service of George Nupkins, Esq. (Ch. xxiv, xxv.) 
Namby, Mr. A sheriff's officer who arrests Mr. Pickwick. (Ch. xl.) 
Neddy. A prisoner for debt, confined in the Fleet ; a phlegmatic 

and taciturn man. (Ch. xlii, xliii.) 
Noddy, Mr. A friend of Mr. Bob Sawyer. (Ch. xxxii.) 
Nupkins, George, Esq. Mayor of Ipswich. Mr. Pickwick and 
his friend Mr. Tupraan arc brought before him on a charge pre- 
ferred by Miss AVitherfield, that they are about to engage in a 
duel, — Mr. Pickwick as principal, and Mr. Tupman as his second. 
(Ch. xxiv, xxv.) See Magnus, Peter. 

The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to strike terror to the 
hearts of culprits, and to impress them with an adequate idea of the stern ma- 
jesty of the law. In front of a big book-case, in a big chair, behind a big table, 
and before a big volume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a full size larger than any 
one of them, big as they were. The table was adorned with piles of papers ; 
and above the farther end of it appeared the head and shoulders of Mr. Jinks, 
who was busily engaged in looking as busy as possible. The party having all 
entered, Muzzle carefully closed the door, and placed himself behind his mas- 
ter's chair to await his orders : Mr. Nupkins threw himself back with thrilling 
solemnity, and scrutinized the faces of his unwilling visitors. 

" Now, Grummer, who is that person?" said Mr. Nupkins. pointing to Mr. 
Pickwick, who, as the spokesman of his friends, stood hat in hand, bowing with 
the utmost politeness and respect. 

" This here's Pickvick, your wash-up," said Grummer. 

" Come, none o' that 'ere, old Strike-a-light 1 " interposed Mr. "Weller, elbow- 
ing himself into the front rank. " Beg your pardon, sir; but this here officer o' 
yourn in the gamboge tops '11 never earn a decent livin' as a master o' the cere- 
monies any vere. This here, sir," continued Mr. Weller, thrusting Grummer 
aside, and addressing the magistrate with pleasant familiarity, — *' this here is 
S. Pickvick, Esquire; this here 's Mr. Tupman; that 'ere 's Mr. Snodgrass, and 
furder on, next him on the t'other side, Mr. "Winkle — all wery nice gen'Pm'n, 
sir, as you'll be wery happy to have the acquaintance on: so the sooner you 
commits these here officers o' yourn to the treadmill for a month or two, the 
sooner we shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding. Business first, pleas- 
ure arterwards, as King Richard the Third said ven he stabbed the t'other king 
in the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies." 

At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat with his right 
elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had hoard him throughout with un- 
speakable awe, 

" Who is this man, Grummer ? " said the magistrate. 

" Wery desp'rate character, your wash-up," replied Grummer. " He attempt- 
ed to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the oflScers : so we took him into cus- 
tody, and brought him here." 

" You did quite right," replied the magistrate. "He is evidently a desperate 
ruffian." 



Srtie 33icfetofcfe papers. 3S 

" He is my servant, sir I " said Mr. Pickwick angrily. 

*'OhI he is your servant; is he?" said Mr. Nupkins. "A conspiracy to de- 
teat the ends of justice, and murder its officers. Pickwick's servant. Put that 
flown, Mr. Jinks." 

Mr. Jinks did so. 

" What *s your name, fellow?" thundered Mr. Nupkins. 

" Veller," replied Sam. 

" A very good name for the Newgate Calendar," said Mr. Nupkins. 

This was a joke : so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the specials, and Muzzle, 
went into fits of laughter for five minutes' duration. 

"Put down his name, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate. 

" Two L's, old feller," said Sam. 

Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon the magistrate threat- 
ened to commit him instantly. It 's a dangerous thing laughing at the wrong 
man in these cases. 

" Where do you live ? " said the magistrate. 

" Vare-ever I can," replied Sam. 

" Put that down, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, who was fast rising into a rage. 

" Score it under," said Sam. 

"He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate. "He is a vagabond on 
his own statement ; is he not, Mr. Jinks ? " 

" Certainly, sir." 

" Then I '11 commit him, — I '11 commit him as such," said Mr. Nupkins. 

" This is a very impartial country for justice," said Sam. " There ain't a magis- 
trate going as don't commit himself twice as often as he commits other people." 

At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look so supernaturally 
Bolemn, that the magistrate detected him immediately. 

" Grummer," said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, " how dare you select 
Buch an inefficient and disreputable person for a special constable, as that man ? 
How dare you do it, sir ? " 

" I am wery sorry, your wash-up," stammered Grummer. 

" Very sorry I " said the furious magistrate. " You shall repent of this neglect 
of duty, Mr. Grummer : you shall be made an example of. Take that fellow's 
staff away. He 's drunk. —You 're drunk, fellow." 

" I am not drunk, your worship," said the man. 

"You are drunk," returned the magistrate. "How dare you say you are not 
drunk, sir, when I say 5^ou are ? Does n't he smell of spirits, Grummer ? " 

" Horrid I your wash-up," replied Grummer, who had a vague impression that 
there was a smell of rum somewhere. 

" I knew he did I " said Mr. Nupkins. " I saw he was drunk when he first came 
Into the room, by his excited eye. Did you observe his excited eye, Mr. Jinks ? " 

" Certainly, sir." 

" I have n't touched a drop of spirits this morning," said the man, who was aa 
sober a fellow as need be. 

" How dare you tell me a falsehood ?" said Mr. Nupkins. " Is n't he drunk at 
this moment, Mr. Jinks ? " 

" Certainly, sir," replied Jinks. 

" Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, " I shall commit that man for contempt. 
Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks." 

And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who was the magis- 
trate's adviser, having had a legal education of three years in a country attorney's 
office, whispered the magistrate that he thought it would n't do : so the magis- 



40 STDe Bfcfeens JBictionars. 

trate made a speech, and said, that, in consideration of the special's family, he 
would merely reprimand and discharge him. Accordingly, the special was abused 
vehemently for a quarter of an hour, and sent about his business ; and Grummer, 
Dubbley, Muzzle, and all the other specials, murmured their admiration of the 
magnanimity of Mr. Nupkins. 

" Now, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, " swear Grummer." 

Grummer was sworn directly; but as Grummer wandered, and Mr. Nupkins's 
dinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut the matter short by putting leading 
questions to Grummer, which Grummer answered as nearly in the affirmative as 
he could. So the examination went off all very smooth and comfortable; and the 
two assaults were proved against Mr. "Weller, and a threat against Mr. Winkle, 
and a push against Mr. Snodgrass. And, when all this was done to the magis- 
trate's satisfaction, the magistrate and Mr. Jinks consulted in whispers. 

The consultation having lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinks retired to his end 
of the table ; and the magistrate, with a preparatory cough, drew himself up in his 
chair, and was proceeding to commence his address, when Mr. Pickwick interposed. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you," said Mr. Pickwick; "but, 
before you proceed to express and act upon any opinion you may have formed 
on the statements which have been made here, I must claim my right to be heard 
80 far as I am personally concerned." 

" Hold your tongue, sir I " said the magistrate peremptorily. 

" I must submit to you, sir," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Hold your tongue, sir I " interposed the magistrate, " or I shall order an officer 
to remove you." 

" You may order your officers to do whatever you please, sir," said Mr. Pick- 
wick; ''and I have no doubt, from the specimen I have had of the subordination 
preserved among them, that, whatever you order, they will execute : but I shall 
take the liberty, sir, of claiming my right to be heard, until I am removed by 
force." 

" Pickvick and principle 1 " exclaimed Mr. Weller in a very audible voice. 

" Sam, be quiet," said Mr. Pickwick. 

"Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it," replied Sam. 

Mr. Nupkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intense astonishment at 
his displaying such unwonted temerity, and was apparently about to return a 
very angry reply, when Mr. Jinks pulled him by the sleeve, and whispered some- 
thing in his ear. To this the magistrate returned a half-audible answer; and then 
the whispering war renewed. Jinks was evidently remonstrating. 

At length the magistrate, gulping down with a very bad grace his disinclina- 
tion to hear any thing more, turned to Mr. Pickwick, and said sharply, " What 
do you want to say ? " 

" First," said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spectacles under which 
even Nupkins quailed, — "first I wish to know what I and my friend have been 
brought here for ? " 

" Must I tell him ? " whispered the magistrate to Jinks. 

" I think you had better, sir," whispered Jinks to the magistrate. 

" An information has been sworn before me," said the magistrate, " that it is 
apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and that the other man, Tupman, iv 
your aider and abettor in it. Therefore — eh, Mr. Jinks ? " 

" Certainly, sir." 

" Therefore I call upon you both to — I think that's the course, Mr. Jinks ? ^ 

" Certainly, sir." 

" To— to— what, Mr. Jinks ? " said the magistrate pettishly. 



2Ci)e 33icktoicfe ^^apers. 41 

" To find bail, sir." 

"Yes. Therefore I call upon you both — as I was about to say when I wai 
Interrupted by my clerk — to find bail.'' 

'' Good bail," whispered Mr. Jinks. 

" I shall require good bail," said the magistrate. 

" Town's-people," whispered Jinks. 

•' They must be town's-people," said the magistrate. 

" Fifty pounds each," whispered Jinks, *' and householders, of course." 

*' I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each," said the magistrate aloud, 
with great dignity; " and they must be householders, of course." 

" But bless my heart, sir I " said Mr. Pickwick, who, together with Mr. Tupman, 
was all amazement and indignation, " we are perfect strangers in this town. I 
have as little knowledge of any householders here as I have intention of fighting 
a duel with anybody." 

" I dare say," replied the magistrate, " I dare say; don't you, Mr. Jinks ?" 

" Certainly, sir." 

" Have you any thing more to say ? " inquired the magistrate. 

Mr. Pickwick recollects that he has lately heard of the adventure 
of Mr. Alfred Jingle in those parts, under the alias of Charles Ed- 
ward Fitz-Marshall, and that rumor has it that he is about to marry 
a daughter of the mayor. Mr. Pickwick determines to speak private- 
ly to the magistrate, and, if this proves to be the fact, to expose Jingle, 
and gain the good will of Mr. Nupkins. He therefore asks a private 
word, which, after some hesitation and great astonishment, is granted. 
The consultation over, Mr. Pickwick and the mayor return to the 
office. 

*' Grummer," said the magistrate in an awful voice. 

" Your wash-up," replied Grummer with the smile of a favorite. 

" Come, come, sir," said the magistrate sternly, " don't let me see any of this 
levity here. It is very unbecoming; and I can assure you that you have very 
little to smile at. Was the account you gave me just now strictly true ? Now be 
careful, sir." 

'' Your wash-up," stammered Grummer, " I " — 

" Oh I you are confused, are you ? " said the magistrate. " Mr. Jinks, you observe 
Lis confusion ? " 

" Certainly, sir," replied Jinks. 

"Now," said the magistrate, "just repeat your statement, Grummer; and 
igain I warn you to be careful. Mr. Jinks, take his words down." 

The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to restate his complaint ; but what be- 
tween Mr. Jinks's taking down his words and the magistrate's taking them up, his 
natural tendency to rambling, and his extreme confusion, he managed to get 
mvolved, in something under three minutes, in such a mass of entanglement and 
contradiction, that Mr. Napkins at once declared he did n't believe him. So the 
fines were remitted, and Mr. Jinks found a couple of bail in no time; and, all 
these solemn proceedings having been satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer wa3 
^lominiously ordered out, — an awful instance of the instability of human great- 
ness and the uncertain tenure of great men's favor, 
4* 



42 2r|)e Bfcfeens llBfctfonarg. 

Nupkins, Mrs. Wife of George Nupkins, Esq. (Ch. xxv.) 

Nupkins, Miss Henrietta. Their daughter. (Ch. xxv.) 

Payne, Doctor. Surgeon of the Forty-third regiment, and a friend 
of Doctor Slammer's. (Ch. ii, iii.) See Slammer, Doctor. 

Pell, Mr. Solomon. An attorney at the Insolvent Court in Por- 
tugal Street ; a fat, flabby, pale man, with a narrow forehead, wide 
face, large head, short neck, and wry nose. (Ch. xliii, Iv.) 

Perker, Mr. Agent for the Honorable Samuel Slumkey in his 
race for parliament ; afterwards Mr. Pickwick's attorney, — a little, 
high-dried man, with a dark, squeezed-up face, small, restless black 
eyes, and the air of one in the habit of propounding regular posers. 
(Ch. X, xiii, xxxi, xxxiv, xxxv, xlvii, liii, liv.) 

Phunky, Mr. Associate counsel with Serjeant Snubbin in the 
case of Bardell vs. Pickwick ; regarded as " an infant barrister," 
as he has not been at the bar quite eight years. (Ch. xxxi, 
xxxiv.) 

Pickwick, Samuel. Founder of the Pickwi* k Club. (Ch. i - 
xxviii, xxx-xxxii, xxxiv - xxxvii, xxxix-xlviii, 1-lvi.) 

The first ray of light which illumines the gloom, an^ <;o» verts into a dazzling 
brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of tue public career of the 
immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved, is derived from the perusal of 
the following entry in the Transactions of the Pickwick Club : — 

" May 12, 1817. — Joseph Smiggers, Esq., P. V. P. M. P. C.,* presiding. The 
following resolutions unanimously agreed to : — 

" That this Association has heard read with feelings of unmingled satisfaction 
and unqualified approval the paper communicated by Samuel Pickwick, Esq., 
G. C. M. P. C.,t entitled ' Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Ponds, 
with Some Observations on the Theory of Tittlebats ; ' and that this Association 
does hereby return its warmest thanks to the said Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C. 
M. P. C, for the same. 

" That while this Association is deeply sensible of the advantages which 
must accrue to the cause of science from the production to which they have just 
adverted, no less than from the unwearied researches of Samuel Pickwick, Esq., 
G. C. M. P. C, in Hornsey, Highgate, Brixton, and Camberwell, they cannot bul 
entertain a lively sense of the inestimable benefits which must inevitably result 
from carrying the speculations of that learned man into a wider field, from ex- 
tending his travels, and consequently enlarging his sphere of observation; to the 
advancement of knowledge and the diffusion of learning. 

<• That, with the view just mentioned, this Association has taken into its seri- 
ous consideration a proposal, emanating from the aforesaid Samuel Pickwick, 
Esq., G. C. M. P. C, and three other Pickwickians hereinafter named, for 
forming a new branch of United Pickwickians under the title of ' The Corre- 
sponding Soc'.ety of the Pickwick Club.' 

* Perpetual Vice-President,— Member Pickwick Club, 
t General Chairman, — Member Pickwick Club. 



5ri)e 33fcfetofc!t papers. 43 

" That the said proposal has received the sanction and approval of this Asso- 
:iation. 

" That the Corresponding Society of tlie Pickwick Club is therefore hereby con- 
stituted; and that Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G. C. M P. C, Tracy Tupman, Esq., 
M. P. C, Augustus Snodgrass, Esq., M. P. C, and Nathaniel Winkle, Esq., M. P. C, 
are hereby nominated and appointed members of the same; and that they be 
requested to forward, from time to time, authenticated accounts of their journeys 
and investigations ; of their observations of character and manners ; and of the 
whole of their adventures, together with all tales and papers to which local scen- 
ery or associations may give rise, to the Pickwick Club, stationed in London. 

" That this Association cordially recognizes the principle of every member of 
tlie Corresponding Society defraying his own travelling-expenses ; and that it sees 
no objection whatever to the members of the said society pursuing their inquiries 
for any length of time they please, upon the same terms. 

" That the members of the aforesaid Corresponding Society be and are hereby 
informed, that their proposal to pay the postage of their letters, and the carriage 
of their parcels, has been deliberated upon by this Association. That this Asso- 
ciation considers such proposal worthy of the great minds from which it emanated ; 
and that it hereby signifies its perfect acquiescence therein." 

A casual observer, adds the secretary, to whose notes we are indebted for the 
following account, — a casual observer might possibly have remarked nothing ex- 
traordinary in the bald head, and circular spectacles, which were intently turned 
turned towards his (the secretary's) face during the reading of the above resolu- 
tions. To those who knew that the gigantic brain of Pickwick was working be 
neath that forehead, and that the beaming eyes of Pickwick were twinkling be- 
hind those glasses, the sight was indeed an interesting one. There sat the man 
who had traced to their source the mightv ponds of Hampstead, and agitated the 
scientific world with his Theory of Tittlebats, as calm and unmoved as the deep 
waters of the one on a frosty day, or as a solitary specimen of the other in the 
inmost recesses of an earthen Jar. And how much more interesting did the spec- 
tacle become, when starting into full life and animation, as a simultaneous call 
for "Pickwick" burst from his followers, that illustrious man slowly mounted 
into the Windsor chair, on which he had been previously seated, and addressed 
the club himself had founded ! What a study for an artist did that exciting scene 
present I The eloquent Pickwick, with one hand gracefully concealed behind his 
coat-tails, and the other waving in air to assist his glowing declamation, — his ele- 
vated position revealing those tights and gaiters, which, had they clothed an ordi- 
nary man, might have passed Avithout observation, but which, when Pickwick 
clothed them (if we may use the expression), inspired involuntary awe and 
respect, — surrounded by the men who had volunteered to share the peril of his 
travels, and who were destined to participate in the glories of his discoveries. On 
iiis right hand sat Mr. Tracy Tupman ; the too susceptible Tupman, who to the 
wisdom and experience of maturer years superadded the enthusiasm and ardor of 
a boy in the most interesting and pardonable of human weaknesses, — love. Time 
and feeding had expanded that once romantic form; the black silk waistcoat 
had become more and more developed; inch by inch had the gold watch-chain 
beneath it disappeared from within the range of Tupman's vision; and gradually 
had the capacious chin encroached upon the borders of the white cravat : but the 
Boul of Tupman had known no change, —admiration of the fair sex was still its rul- 
ing passion. On the left of his great leader sat the poetic Snodgrass ; and near him, 
again, the sporting Winkle, — the former poetically enveloped in a mysterious blue 
cloak with a canine-skin collar ; and the latter communicating additional lustre to 
% new green shooting-coat, plaid neckerchief, and closely-fitted drabs. 



44 2ri)0 23fcfeens JBfctfonarg, 

Mr. Pickwick starts out upon his travels with the other members 
of the Corresponding Society of tlie Pickwick Club, and meets with 
many laughable and interesting adventures. At Rochester they 
attend a grand review, station themselves in the front rank of the 
crowd, and patiently await the commencement of the proceedings. 

The throng was increasing every moment ; and the efforts they were compelled 
to make to retain the position they had gained sufficiently occupied their atten- 
tion during the two hours that ensued. At one time, there was a sudden pressure 
Crom behind; and then Mr. Pickwick was jerked forward for several yards, with a 
•legrcseof speed and elasticity highly inconsistent with the general gravity of hia 
demeanor : at another moment there was a request to " keep back " from the 
front; and then the butt-end of a musket was either dropped upon Mr. Pickwick's 
toe to remind him of the demand, or thrust into his chest to insure its being com- 
plied with. Then some facetious gentleman on the left, after pressing sideways in 
a body, and squeezing Mr. Snodgrass into the very last extreme of human torture, 
would request to know " vere he was a-shovin' to ; " and, when Mr. Winkle had 
done expressing his excessive indignation at witnessing this unprovoked assault, 
some person behind would knock his hat over his eyes, and beg the favor of his 
putting his head in his pocket. These, and other practical witticisms, coupled with 
the unaccountable absence of Mr. Tupman (who had suddenly disappeared, and 
was nowhere to be found), rendered their situation, upon the whole, rather more 
uncomfortable than pleasing or desirable. 

At length that low roar of many voices can through the crowd, which usually 
announces the arrival of whatever they have been waiting for. All eyes were 
turned in the direction of the sally-port. A few moments of eager expectation, 
and colors were seen fluttering gayly in the air; arms glistened brightly in the sun; 
column after column poured on to the plain. The troops halted and formed; the 
word of command rung through the line; there was a general clash of muskets as 
arms were presented; and the commander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bulder 
and numerous officers, cantered to the front. The military bands struck up all 
together ; the horses stood upon two legs each, cantered backwards, and whisked 
their tails about in all directions ; the dogs barked; the mob screamed; the troops 
recovered ; and nothing was to be seen on either side, as far as the eye could reach 
but a long perspective of red coats and white trousers, fixed and motionless. 

Mr. Pickwick had been so fully occupied in falling about, and disentangling 
himself, miraculously, from between the legs of horses, that he had not enjoyed 
»ufficient leisure to observe the scene before him, until it assumed the appearance 
ve have just described. When he was at last enabled to stand firmly on his legs, 
his gratification and delight were unbounded. 

'' Can any thing be finer or more delightful ?" he inquired of IVIr. Winkle. 

" Nothing," replied that gentleman, who had had a short man standing on each 
of his feet for the quarter of an hour immediately preceding. 

" It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight," said Mr. Snodgrass, in whose bosom 
a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, "to see the gallant defenders of their 
country drawn up in a brilliant array before its peaceful citizens ; their faces beam- 
ing, not with warlike ferocity, but with civilized gentleness; their eyes flashing, 
not with the rude fire of rapine or revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and 
intelligence." 

BIr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium ; but he could not 
exactly re-echo its terms ; for the soft light of intelligence burnt rather feebly in 



(5:t)e 3iJirfetoicfe J^apecs. 45 ' 

the eyes of the warriors, inasmuch as the command, " Eyes front I " had been given ; 
and all the spectator saw before him was several thousand pair of optics staring 
straight forward, wholly divested of any expression whatever. 

"We are in a capital situation, now ! " said Mr. Pickwick, looking round blm. 
The crowd had gradually dispersed from their immediate vicinity, and they were 
nearly alone. 

" Capital ! " echoed both Mr, Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle. 

"What are they doing now?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjusting his spectacles. 
"I — I — rather think," said Mr. Winkle, changing color, — "I rather think 
they 're going to fire." 

" Nonsense I " said Mr. Pickwick hastily. 

"I — I — really think they are," urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed. 
" Impossible I " replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the word, when 
the whole half-dozen regiments levelled their muskets as if they had but one com- 
mon object, and that object the Pickwickians, and burst forth with the most awful 
and tremendous discharge that ever shook the earth to its centre, or an elderly 
gentleman off his. 

It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blank cartridges, and 
harassed by the operations of the military, — a fresh body of whom had begun to fall 
in on the opposite side, — that Mr. Pickwick displayed that perfect coolness and 
self-possession, which are the indispensable accompaniments of a great mind. He 
seized Mr. Winkle by the arm, and, placing himself between that gentleman and 
Mr. Snodgrass, earnestly besought them to remember, that, beyond the possibility 
of being rendered deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be appre- 
hended from the firing. 

"But— but— suppose some of the men should happen to have ball cartridges 
by mistake," remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at the supposition he was himself 
conjuring up. " I heard something whistle through the air just now — so sharp I 
close to my ear." 

" We had better throw ourselves on our faces, had n't we ?" said Mr. Snodgrass. 
" No, no I it 's over now," said Mr. Pickwick. His lip might quiver, and his 
cheek might blanch; but no expression of fear or concern escaped the lips of that 
immortal man. 

Mr. Pickwick was right : the firing ceased. But he had scarcely time to congrat- 
ulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, when a quick movement was visible 
in the line : the hoarse shout of the word of command ran along it, and, before 
either of the party could form a guess at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the 
whole of the half-dozen regiments, with fixed bayonets, charged at double-quick 
time down upon the very spot on which Mr. Pickwick and his friends were sta- 
tioned. 

Man is but mortal ; and there is a point beyond which human courage cannot 
extend. Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spectacles for an instant on the advan- 
cing mass; and then fairly turned his back, and — we will not say fled; first, 
because it is an ignoble term, and, secondly, because Mr. Pickwick's figure was by 
no means adapted for that mode of retreat. He trotted away at as quick a rate as 
his legs would convey him. — so quickly, indeed, that he did not perceive the awk- 
wardness of his situation to the full extent, until too late. 

The opposite troops, whose falling-in had perplexed Mr. Pickwick a few seconds 
before, were drawn up to repel the mimic attack of the sham besiegers of the cit- 
adel; and the consequence was, that Mr. Pickwick and his two companions found 
themselves suddenly enclosed between two lines of great length, — the one advan- 
cing at u rapid pace, and the other firmly waiting the collision in hostile array. 



'46 8ri)e JBicltens JiCctionarj. 

" Hoi I " shouted the officers of the advancing line. 

" Get out of the way ! " cried the officers of the stationary one. 

"Where are we to go ?" screamed the agitated Pickwickians. 

" Hoi, hoi, hoi ! " was the only reply. There was a moment of intense bewil 
derment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent concussion, a smothered laugh — 
the half-dozen regiments were half a thousand yards off; and the soles of Mr. 
Pickwick's boots were elevated in air. 

Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle had each performed a compulsory somerset with 
remarkable agility, when the first object that met the eyes of the latter as he sat 
on the ground, stanching with a j-ellow silk handkerchief the stream of life which 
issued from his nose, was his venerated leader at some distance off, running after 
his own hat, which was gambolling playfully away in perspective. 

There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so much 
ludicious distress, or meets with so little charitable commiseration, as when he is 
in pursuit of his own hat. A vast deal of coolness and a peculiar degree of judg- 
ment are requisite in catching a hat. A man must not be precipitate, or he runs 
over it; he must not rush into the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The 
best way is to keep gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, 
to watch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive, 
seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head, smiling pleasantly all the 
time, as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody else. 

There was a fine, gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled sportively before it. 
The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled over and over aa 
merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide; and on it might have rolled, far 
beyond Mr. Pickwick's reach, had not its course been providentially stopped just 
as that gentleman was on the point of resigning it to its fate. 

Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about to give up the chase, 
when the hat was blown with some violence against the wheel of a carriage. 

Darting forward to pick it up, Mr. Pickwick is accosted by Mr. 
Tupman, who has made the acquaintance of Mr. Wardle and his 
family (the occupants of the carriage), and is introduced to them, as 
are Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, who come up shortly after. 
Being all invited to visit Manor Farm, Mr. Wardle's home, on the 
following day, they determine to go, — three of them in a chaise, and 
one on horseback. At an early hour, the carriage is brought to the 
door. 

It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low place like a wine- 
bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for one in front, drawn by an immense 
brown horse, displaying great symmetry of bone. An hostler stood near it, holding 
by the bridle another immense horse — apparently a near relative of the animal in 
the chaise — ready saddled for Mr. Winkle. 

" Bless my soul I " said Mr. Pickwick as they stood upon the pavement while 
the coats were being put in, — '• bless my soul I who 's to drive ? I never thought 
of that 1 " 

"Oh I you, of course," said Mr. Tupman. 

" Of course,'' said Mr. Snodgrass. 

"II" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

" Not the slightest fear, sir," interposed the hostler. " Warrant him quiet, sir 
a hinfant in arms might drive him." 



E\)t 33fclttofclt i^apers. 47 

"He don't shy; does he ?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

" Shy, sir ? He would n't shy if he was to meet a vaggin load of monkeys with 
their tails burnt off." 

The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass 
got into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his perch, and deposited his feet on a 
floor-clothed shelf erected beneath it for that purpose. 

"Now, Shiny Villiam," said the hostler to the deputy hostler, "give the gen'l- 
m'n the ribbins." " Shiny Villiam " — so called, probably, from his sleek hair and 
oily countenance — placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick's left hand; and the upper 
hostler thrust a whip into his right. 

" Woo I " cried Mr. Pickwick, as thetall quadruped evinced a decided inclination 
to back into the coffee-room window. 

" Wo— o ! " echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from the bin. 

"Only his playfulness, gen'lm'n," said the head hostler encouragingly; "jist 
kitch hold on him, Villiam." The deputy restrained the animal's impetuosity, and 
the principal ran to assist Mr. Winkle in mounting. 

" T' other side, sir, if you please." 

" Blowed if the gen'lm'n worn't a-gettin' up on the wrong side I " whispered a 
grinning post-boy to the inexpressibly gratified waiter. 

Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle with about as much diffi- 
culty as he would have experienced in getting up the side of a first-rate man-of- 
war. 

"All right?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment that it was 
all wrong. 

" All right I » replied Mr. Winkle faintly. 

" Let 'em go ! " cried the hostler, " hold him in, sir; " and away went the chaise 
and the saddle-horse, with Mr. PiQjtwick on the box of the one, and Mr. Winkle on 
the back of the other, to the delight and gratification of the whole inn-yard. 

" What makes him go sideways ? " said Mr. Snodgrass in the bin to Mr. AVinkle 
in the saddle. 

" 1 can't imagine," replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was going up the street in 
the most mysterious manner, — side first, with his head towards one side of the 
way, and his tail to the other. 

Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any other particular ; the 
whole of his faculties being concentrated in the management of the animal at- 
tached to the chaise, who displayed various peculiarities highly interesting to a 
bystander, but by no means equally amusing to any one seated behind him. 
Besides constantly jerking his head up in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable 
manner, and tugging at the reins to an extent which rendered it a matter of great 
difficulty for Mr. Pickwick to hold them, he had a singular propensity for darting 
suddenly, every now and then, to the side of the road, then stopping short, and 
then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which it was wholly impossible 
to control. 

"What caw he mean by this?" said IVIr. Snodgrass, when the horse had exe- 
cuted this manoeuvre for the twentieth time. 

"I don't know," replied Mr. Tupman: "it looks very like shying, don't it?'* 
Mr, Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a shout from Mr. 
Pickwick. 

" Woo I " said that gentleman. " I have dropped my whip." 

" Winkle.," cried Mr, Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trotting up on the tall 
horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all over, as if he would shake to 
}>ieces with the violence of the exercise, — " pick up the whip ; there 's a good 



48 8rt)e Bfcfeens IBtctfonarj. 

fellow.' Mr. Winkle pulled at the bridle of the tall horse till he was black in the 
face; and having, at length, succeeded in stopping him, dismounted, handed the 
whip to Mr. Pickwick, and, grasping the reins, prepared to remount. 

Now, whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of his disposition, was 
desirous of having a little innocent recreation with Mr. "Winkle, or whether it 
occurred to him that he could perform the journey as much to his own satisfaction 
without a rider as with one, are points upon which, of course, we can arrive at no 
definite and distinct conclusion. By whatever motives the animal was actuated, 
certain it is, that Mr. Winkle had no sooner touched the reins than he slipped them 
over his head, and darted backwards to their full length. 

"Poor fellow I " said Mr. Winkle soothingly, "poor fellow, good old horse I" 
The " poor fellow " was proof against flattery : the more Mr. Winkle tried to get 
nearer him, the more he sidled away; and, notwithstanding all kinds of coaxing 
and wheedling, there wers Mr. Winkle and the horse going round and round each 
other for ten minutes, at the end of which time each was at precisely the same dis- 
tance from the other as when they first commenced, — an unsatisfactory sort of thing 
under any circumstances, but particularly so in a lonely road, where no assistance 
can be procured. 

" What am I to do ?" shouted Mr. Winkle, after the dodging had been prolonged 
for a considerable time. " What am I to do ? I can't get on him I " 

" You had better lead him till we come to a turnpike," replied Mr. Pickwick 
from the chaise. 

" But he won't come," roared Mr. Winkle. " Do come and hold him,'' 

Mr. Pickwick was the very personation of kindness and humanity: he threw 
the reins on the horse's back, and, having descended from his seat, carefully drew 
the chaise into the hedge, lest any thing should come along the road, and stepped 
back to the assistance of his distressed companion, leaving Mr. Tupman and Mr. 
Snodgrass in the vehicle. 

The horse no sooner beheld Mr. Pickwick advancing towards him, with the 
chaise-whip in his hand, than he exchanged the rotary motion in which he had 
previously indulged, for a retrogr ide movement, of so very determined a charac- 
ter, that it at once drew Mr. WJnkle, who was still at the end of the bridle, at a 
rather quicker rate than fast walking, in the direction from which they had just 
come. Mr. Pickwick ran to his assistance; but, the faster Mr. Pickwick ran for- 
ward, the faster the horse ran backward. There was a great scraping of feet, and 
kicking up of the dust ; and at last Mr. Winkle, his arms being nearly pulled out 
of their sockets, fairly let go his hold. The horse paused, stared, shook his head, 
turned round, and quietly trotted homis to Rochester, leaving Mr. Winkle and Mr. 
Pickwick gazing on each other with countenances of blank dismay. A rattling 
noise at a little distance attracted their attention. They looked up. 

''Bleis my soull" exclaimed the agonized Mr. Pickwick: '^ there 's the other 
horse running away I " 

It was but too true. The animal was startled by the noise, and the reins were 
on his back. The result may be guessed. He tore off with the four-wheeled chaise 
behind him, and Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in the four-wheeled chaise. The 
heat was a short one. Mr. Tupman threw himself into the hedge; Mr. Snodgrass 
followed his example ; the horse dashed the four-wheeled chaise against a wooden 
bridge, separated the wheels from the body, and finally stood stock still to gaze 
upon the ruin he had made. 

After extricating themselves, the party are compelled to walk and 
to lead the horse ; and it is not until late in the afternoon that they 
reach Manor Farm, tired, dusty, and foot-sore. 



S:i)e 33icfttDicft 33apers. 49 

Wlien in London, Mr. Pickwick makes it his home at Mrs. Bar- 
dell's, in Goswell Street, where he has very comfortable lodgings, and 
a very accommodating landlady. He determines, however, to take a 
servant ; and, desiring to consult Mrs. Bardell in relation to the mat- 
ter, he sends for her. 

" Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick .... 

"Sir," said Mrs. Bardell .... 

" Do you think it 's a much greater expense to keep two people than to keep 
one?" 

" La, Mr. Pickwick I " said Mrs. Bardell, coloring up to the very border of her 
cap, as she fancied she observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in the eyes of 
her lodger, — " la, Mr. Pickwick, what a question I " 

'* Well, but do you ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

" That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, . . . "that depends a good deal upon the 
person, you know, Mr. Pickwick; and whether it 's a saving and careful person, 
sir." 

" That 's very true," said Mr. Pickwick ; " but the person I have in my eye (here 
he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these qualities, and has, 
moreover, a considerable knowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, 
Mrs. Bardell, which may be of material use to me." 

'•La, JMr. Pickwick I" said Mrs. Bardell, the crimson rising to her cap-border 
again. 

" I do," said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont in speaking of a 
subject which interested him, — "I do, indeed; and, to tell you the truth, Mrs, 
Bardell, I have made up my mind." 

" Dear me, sir ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bardell. 

*' You '11 think it not very strange now," said the amiable Mr. Pickwick, with a 
good-humored glance at his companion, " that I never consulted you about this 
matter, and never mentioned it, till I sent your little boy out this morning — eh ? " 

Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had long worshipped Mr. Pick- 
wick at a distance; but here she was, all at once raised to a pinnacle to which her 
wildest and most extravagant hopes had never dared to aspii-e. Mr. Pickwick was 
going to propose — a deliberate plan, too — sent her little boy away. 

After a few words more, Mrs. Bardell, overcome by her feelings, 
goes off into ecstatic hysterics, and throws herself into the arras of 
Mr. Pickwick, who vehemently protests, and begs her to desist. 

"Mrs. Bardell, my good woman — dear me, what a situation I Pray consider, 
Mrs. Bardell; don't — if anybody should come " — 

"Oh! let them come," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell frantically. "I'll never leave 
you — dear, kind, good, soul I " And with these words Mrs. Bardell clung the 
tighter. 

" Mercy upon me I " said Mr. Pickwick, struggling violently. " I hear somebody 
coming up the stairs. Don't, don't, there 's a good creature, don't I " But entreaty 
and remonstrance were alike unavailing: for Mrs. Bardell had fainted in Mr. Pick- 
wick's arms ; and, before he could gain time to deposit her on a chair. Master Bar- 
dell entered the room, ushering in Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. 

Mr. Pickwick was struck motionless and speechless. He stood with his Iovel5 
burden in his arms, gazing vacantly on the countenances of his friends, without 
5 



50 SCtc JBickens ISfctfonars. 

the slightest attempt at recognition or explanation. They, in their turn, stared al 
him; and Master Bardell, in his turn, stared at everybody. 

The astonishment of the Pickwickians was so absorbing, and the perplexity of 
Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, that they might have remained in exactly the same 
relative situations until the suspended animation of the lady was restored, had it 
not been for a most beautiful and touching expression of filial affection on the 
part of her youthful son. Clad in a tight suit of corduroy spangled with brass 
buttons of a very considerable size, he at first stood at the door astounded and un- 
certain; but, by degrees, the impression that his mother must have suffered some 
personal damage pervaded his partially-developed mind, and, considering Mr. 
Pickwick as the aggressor, he set up an appalling and semi-earthly kind of howl- 
ing, and, butting forward with his head, commenced assailing that immortal gen- 
tleman about the back and legs, with such blows and pinches as the strength of 
his arm and the violence of his excitement allowed. 

*' Take this little villain away I " said the agonized Mr. Pickwick. " He 's mad I " 

" What is the matter ? " said the three tongue-tied Pickwickians. 

" I don't know," replied Mr. Pickwick pettishly. " Take away the boy (here 
Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, screaming and struggling, to the farther 
end of the apartment). Now help me to lead this woman down stairs.'' 

" Oh I I am better now," said Mrs. Bardell faintly. 

" Let me lead you down stairs,'' said the ever gallant Mr. Tupman. 

"Thank you, sir; thank you I '' exclaimed Mrs. Bardell hysterically. And 
down stairs she was led accordingly, accompanied by her affectionate son. 

" I cannot conceive," said Mr. Pickwick, when his friend returned, — "I can- 
not conceive what has been the matter with that woman. I had merely announced 
to her my intention of keeping a man-servant, when she fell into the extraordi- 
nary paroxysm in which you found her. Very extraordinary thing I " 

" Very I " said his three friends. 

" Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation," continued Mr. Pick- 
wick. 

" Very I " was the reply of his follow^ers, as they coughed slightly, and looked 
dubiously at each other. 

This behavior was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He remarked their incredu- 
lity. They evidently suspected him. 

After this occurrence Mr. Pickwick engages Samuel Weller as his 
servant ; and the next day they all set out for Eatanswill to observe 
the incidents attending an election at that borough. The parties 
there are divided into two factions, — the Buffs and the Blues. 

Of course it was essentially and indispensably necessary that each of these pow- 
erful parties should have its chosen organ and representative; and, accordingly, 
there were two newspapers in the town, — "The Eatanswill Gazette " and "The 
Eatanswill Independent ; " the former advocating Blue principles, and the latter con- 
ducted on grounds decidedly Buff. Fine newspapers tliey were 1 Such leading ar- 
ticles, and such spirited attacks I — " Our worthless contemporary ' The Gazette,' " 
"That disgraceful and dastardly journal 'The Independent,'" "That false and 
oourrilous print ' The Independent,' " " That vile and slanderous calumniator ' The 
Gazette,' " — these and other spirit-stirring denunciations were strewn plentifully 
over the columns of each, in every number, and excited feelings of the most 
Vntense delight and indignation in the bosoms of the town's-people. 

Mr. Pickwick, with his usual foresight and sagacity, had chosen a peculiarly de- 



iirable moment for his visit to tlie borough. Never was such a contest known. 
The Honorable Samuel Slumkey of Slumkey Hall was the Blue candidate ; and 
Horatio Fizkin, Esq., of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill, had been prevailed upon 
by his friends to stand forward on the Buff interest. " The Gazette" warned the 
electors of Eatanswill that the eyes, not only of England, but of the whole civil- 
ized world, were upon them. " The Independent " imperatively demanded to know 
whether the constituency of Eatanswill were the grand fellows they had alway.s 
taken them for, or base and servile tools, undeserving alike of the name of Eng- 
lishmen and the blessings of freedom. Never had such a commotion agitated 
the town before. 

It was late in the evening when Mr. Pickwick and his companions, assisted by 
Sam, dismounted from the roof of the Eatanswill coach. Large blue silk flags 
were flying from the windows of the Town Arms Inn ; and bills were posted in 
every sash, intimating, in gigantic letters, that the Honorable Samuel Slumkey 's 
Committee sat there daily. A crowd of idlers were assembled in the road, look- 
ing at a hoarse man in the balcony, who was apparently talking himself very red 
in the face in Mr. Slumkey's behalf; but the force and point of whose arguments 
were somewhat impaired by the perpetual beating of four large drums, which Mr. 
Fizkin's committee had stationed at the street-corner. There was a busy little 
man beside him, though, who took off his hat at intervals, and motioned to the 
people to cheer, which they regularly did, most enthusiastically; and, as the red- 
faced gentleman went on talking till he was redder in the face than ever, it seemed 
to answer his purpose quite as well as if anybody had heard him. 

The Pickwickians had no sooner dismounted than they were surrounded by a 
branch mob of the honest and independent, who forthwith set up three deafening 
cheers, which, being responded to by the main body (for it 's not at all necessary for 
a crowd to know what they are cheering about), swelled into a tremendous roar of 
triumph, which stopped even the red-faced man in the balcony. 

"Hurrah I " shouted the mob in conclusion. 

" One cheer more 1 " screamed the little fugleman in the balcony ; and out shout- 
ed the mob again, as if lungs were cast iron, with steel works. 

<' Slumkey forever I " roared the honest and independent. 

*' Slumkey forever 1 " echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat. 

" No Fizkin ! " roared the crowd. 

"Cei-tainly not ! " shouted Mr. Pickwick. 

" Hurrah I " And then there was another roaring, like that of a whole menage- 
rie when the elephant has rung the bell for the cold meat. 

'' Who is Slumkey?" whispered Mr. Tupman. 

"Idon't know," replied Mr. Pickwick in the same tone. "Hush I Don't ask 
any questions. It 's always best on these occasions to do what the mob do." 

"But suppose there are two mobs," suggested Mr. Snodgrass. 

" Shout with the largest I " replied Mr. Pickwick. 

Volumes could not have said more. 

While in the country, Mr. Pickwick and his friends think it will 
be well to indulge in a little sport, and consequently resolve to go 
out gunning. Accompanied by Mr. Wardle, they take an open car- 
riage and drive off. Arrived at the grounds, Mr. Pickwick finds him- 
self too lame to walk, and is much disappointed thereat ; but Sam, 
having discovered a wheelbarrow, proposes to give him a free ride 



52 8C!)e ©icftens MlcUonaxs 

in this novel vehicle, which proposition Mr. Pickwick gratefully ac- 
cepts. But here a difficulty arises. The gamekeeper resolutely 
protests against the introduction into a shooting-party of a gentle- 
man in a barrow, as a gross violation of all estabhshed rules and pre- 
cedents. 

It was a great objection, but not an insurmountable one. The gamekeeper liav- 
Ing been coaxed and feed, and having, moreover, eased his mind by " punching" 
the head of the inventive youth who had first suggested the use of the machine, 
Mr. Pickwick was placed in it, and off the party set, — Wardle and the long game- 
keeper leading the way; and Ittr. Pickwick in the barrow, propelled by Sam, bring- 
ing up the rear. 

" Stop, Sam ! " said Mr. Pickwick, when they had got half across the first field. 

" What *s the matter now ?" said Wardle. 

" I won't suffer this barrow to be moved another step," said Mr. Pickwick reso- 
lutely, " unless Winkle carries that gun of his in a different manner." 

" How am I to carry it ? " said the wretched Winkle. 

" Carry it with the muzzle of it to the ground," replied Mr. Pickwick. 

" It's so unsportsman-like," reasoned Winkle. 

" I don't care whether it's unsportsman-like, or not," replied Mr. Pickwick. " I 
am not going to be shot in a wheelbarrow, for the saGe of appearances, to please 
anybody." 

" I know the gentleman '11 put that 'ere charge into somebody afore he 's done," 
growled the long man. 

" Well, well, I don't mind," said poor Winkle, turning his gun-stock upper- 
most : " there 1 " 

" Any thin' for a quiet life," said Mr. Weller ; and on they went again. 

" Stop I " said Mr. Pickwick after they had gone a few yards farther. 

" What now ? " said Wardle. 

" That gun of Tupman's is not safe : I know it isn't 1 " said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Eh ? What I not safe ? " said Mr. Tupman in a tone of great alarm. 

" Not as you are carrying it," said Mr. Pickwick. '' I am very sorry to make 
any further objections; but I cannot consent to go on unless you carry it as Win- 
kle does his." 

"I think you had better, sir," said the long gamekeeper, " or you 're quite as 
likely to lodge the charge into your ownvestcoat as in anybody else's." 

3Ir. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece in the position re- 
quired, and the party moved on again; the two amateurs marching with reversed 
arms, like a couple of privates at a royal funeral. 

The dogs came suddenly to a dead stop; and the party, advancing stealthily a 
single pace, stopped too. 

^' What 's the matter with the dogs' legs ? " whispered Mr. Winkle. " How queer 
they 're standing I " 

" Hush I can't you ? " replied Wardle softly. "Don't you see they 're making a 
point?" 

" Making a point I " said Mr. Winkle, staring about him, as if he expected to 
discover some particular beauty in the landscape, which the sagacious animals 
were calling special attention to, — "making a point I What are they pointing 
at?" 

" Keep your eyes open," said Wardle, not heeding the question in the excite 
ment of the moment. " Now, then ! " 



SN |3fcfetoicfe ^Papers. 63 

There was a sharp whirring noise, that made Mr. Winkle start back as if he had 
been shot himself. Bang, bang, went a couple of guns. The smoke swept quickly 
away over the field, and curled into the air. 

" Where are they ? " said Mr. Winkle in a state of the highest excitement, turn- 
ing round and round in all directions, — " where are they ? Tell me when to fire. 
Where are they ? where are they ? " 

'•Where are they?" said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds which the dogs 
had deposited at his feet, — " where are they ? Why, here they are." 

" No, no I I mean the others," said the bewildered Winkle. 

" Far enough off by this time," replied Wardle, coolly reloading his gun. 

" We shall very likely be up with another covey in five minutes," said the long 
gamekeepeer. " If the gentleman begins to fire now, perhaps he '11 just get the 
shot out of the barrel by the time they rise." 

" Ha, ha, ha I " roared Mr. Weller. 

" Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, compassionating his follower's confusion and em- 
barrassment. 

" Sir." 

"Don't laugh." 

" Certainly not, sir." So, by way of indemnification. My. Weller contorted his 
features from behind the wheelbarrow, for the exclusive amusement of the boy 
with the leggings, who thereupon burst into a boisterous laugh, and was sum- 
marily cuffed by the long gamekeeper, who wanted a pretext for turning round to 
hide his own merriment. 

" Bravo, old fellow ! " said Wardle to Mr. Tupman : " you fired that time, at all 
events." 

" Oh, yes I " replied Mr. Tupman with conscious pride. " I let it off." 

" Well done. You '11 hit something next time if you look sharp. Very easy; 
an't it ? " 

" Yes, it 's very easy," said Mr. Tupman. " How it hurts one's shoulder, though I 
It nearly knocked me backwards. I had no idea these small fire-arms kicked so." 

*' Ah I " said the old gentleman, smiling. " You '11 get used to it in time. Now, 
then — all ready, all right with the barrow there ?" 

"All right, sir," replied Mr. Weller. 

" Come along, then." 

"Hold hard, sir," said Sam, raising the barrow. 

" Ay, ay I " replied Mr. Pickwick ; and on they went as briskly as need be. 

" Keep that barrow back, now," cried Wardle, when it had been hoisted over a 
stile into another field, and Mr. Pickwick had been deposited in it once more. 

"All right, sir," replied Mr. Weller, pausing. 

" Now, Winkle," said the old gentleman, "follow me softly, and don't be too 
late this time." 

" Never fear," said Mr. Winkle. " Are they pointing." 

"No, no I not now. Quietly now, quietly." On they crept, and very quietly 
they would have advanced, if Mr. Winkle, in the performance of some very intri- 
cate evolutions with his gun, had not accidentally fired, at the most critical mo- 
ment, over the boy's head, exactly in the very spot where the tall man's brain 
would have been, had he been there instead. 

" Why, Avhat on earth did you do that for ? " said old Wardle, as the birds flew 
unharmed away. 

" I never saw such a gun in my life I " replied poor Winkle, looking at the lock, as 
If that would do any good. " It goes off of its own accord. It will do it." 
3* 



54 8ri)e 33icfeeiis 23ictionarg. 

" Will do it I " echoed Wardle, with something of irritation in his manner. ♦• a 
wish it would kill something of its own accord." 

"It 'L i-^ that afore long, sir," observed the tall man in a low, prophetic 
voice. 

" What do you mean by that observation, sir ? " inquired Mr. Winkle angrily. 

" Never mind, sir, never mind," replied the long gamekeeper. " I 've no 
family myself, sir; and this here boy's mother will get something handsome from 
Sir Geoffrey, it" he 's killed on his land. Load again, sir; load again." 

" Take away his gun ! " cried Mr. Pickwick from the barrow, horror-stricken at 
the long man's dark insinuations. " Take away his gun ! do you hear, somebody ?" 

Nobody, however, volunteered to obey the command; and Mr. Winkle, after 
darting a rebellious glance at Mr. Pickwick, reloaded his gun, and proceeded on. 
wards with the rest. 

We are bound, on the authority of Mr. Pickwick, to state that Mr. Tupman's 
mode of proceeding evinced far more of prudence and deliberation than that 
adopted by Mr. Winkle. . . . 

With the quickness and penetration of a man of genius, he had at once observed 
that the two great points to be attained, were first to discharge his piece Avithout 
injury to himself, and, secondly, to do* so without danger to the by-standers. 
Obviously the best thing to do, after surmounting the diflaculty of firing at all, was 
to shut his eyes firmly, and fire into the air. 

On one occasion, after performing this feat, Mr. Tupman, on opening his eyes, 
beheld a plump partridge in the very act of falling wounded to the ground. He 
was just on the point of congratulating Wardle on his invariable success, when 
that gentleman advanced towards him, and grasped him warmly by the hand. 

''Tupman," said the old gentleman, "you singled out that particular bird?" 

"No," said Mr. Tupman, —" no." 

"You did," said Wardle. "I saw you do it; I observed you pick him out; 1 
noticed you as you raised your piece to take aim : and I will say this, that the 
best shot in existence could not have done it more beautifully. You are an older 
hand at this than I thought you, Tupman ; you have been out before." 

It was in vain for Mr. Tupman to protest, with a smile of self-denial, that he 
never had. The very smile was taken as evidence to the contrary ; and, from that 
time forth, his reputation was established. It is not the only reputation that has 
been acquired as easily; nor are such fortunate circumstances confined to partridge- 
shooting. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Winkle flashed and blazed and smoked away without produ- 
cing any material results worthy of being noted down ; sometimes expending his 
charge in mid-air, and at others sending it skimming along so near the surface of 
the ground as to place the lives of the two dogs on a rather uncertain and preca- 
rious tenure. As a display of fancy-shooting, it was extremely varied and curious ; 
as an exhibition of firing with any precise object, it was, upon the whole, perhaps 
a failure. . . . 

" Well," said Wardle, walking up to the side of the barrow, and wiping the 
streams of perspiration from his jolly red face; " smoking day, is n't it ?" 

" It is, indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick. " The sun is tremendously hot, even to 
me. I don't know how you must feel it." 

" Why," said the old gentleman, " pretty hot. It 's past twelve, though. You 
see that green hill there ? " 

'* Certainly .» 

" That 's the place where we are to lunch ; and, by Jove I there 's the boy with the 
Oasket, punctual as clock-work." 



STJe 3i)fcftfcDicft 33aper». 55 

" So he is," said Mr. Pickwick, brightening up. " Good boy, that. I 'II give him 
a shilling presently. Now, then, Sam, wheel away." 

" Hold on, sir I " said Mr. Weller, invigorated with the prospect of refreshments. 
" Out of the vay, young leathers I If you walley my precious life don't upset me, 
as the gen'l'man said to the driver when they was a-carryin' him to Tyburn." 
And, quickening his pace to a sharp i"un, Mr. Weller wheeled his master to the 
green hill, shot him dexterously out by the very side of the basket, and proceeded 
to unpack it with the utmost despatch. 

" A wery good notion of a lunch it is, take it altogether," said Mr. Weller, sur- 
veying his arrangement of the repast with great satisfaction. " Now, gen'l'men, 
' fall on,' as the English said to the French when they fixed bagglnets." 

It needed no second invitation to induce the party to yield fuU justice to the 
meal ; and as little pressing did It require to induce Mr. Weller, the long gamekeeper, 
and the two boys, to station themselves on the grass at a little distance, and to do 
good execution upon a decent proportion of the viands. An old oak-tree afforded 
a pleasant shelter to the group; and a rich prospect of ai-able and meadow land, 
intersected with luxuriant hedges, and richly ornamented with wood, lay spread 
out before them. 

" Tins is delightful, thoroughly delightful I " said Mr. Pickwick, the skin of 
whose expressive countenance was rapidly peeling off with exposure to the 
sun. 

" So it is, so it is, old fellow I " replied Wardle. " Come, a glass of punch." 

" With great pleasure," said Mr. Pickwick ; and the satisfaction of his counte- 
nance after di-inking it bore testimony to the sincerity of the reply. 

" Good !" said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips, — " very good I I '11 take another. 
Cool, very cool. Come, gentlemen, " continued Mr. Pickwick, still retaining his 
hold upon the jar, " a toast; ' Our friends at Dlngley Dell.' " 

The toast was drunk with loud acclamations. 

" I '11 tell you what I shall do to get up my shooting again," said Mr. Winkle, 
who was eating bread and ham with a pocket-knife. " I '11 put a stuffed partridge 
on the top of a post, and practise at it, beginning at a short distance, and length- 
ening it by degrees. I understand it 's a capital practice." 

"I know a gen'l'man, sir," said Mr. Weller, "as did that, and begun at two 
yards : but he never tried it on agin ; for he blowed the bird right clean away at 
the first fire, and nobody ever seed a feather on him arterwards." 

" Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. 

"Sir," replied Mr. Weller. 

" Have the goodness to reserve your anecdotes till they are called for." 

" Cert'nly, sir." 

Here Mr. Weller winked the eye which was not concealed by the beer-can he 
was raising to his lips, with such exquisite facetlousness, that the two boys went 
into spontaneous convulsions ; and even the long man condescended to smile. 

" Well, that certainly is most capital cold punch," said Mr. Pickwick, looking 
earnestly at the stone bottle ; "and the day is extremely warm, and — Tupman, 
my dear friend, a glass of punch ? " 

" With the greatest delight," replied Mr. Tupman : and, having drunk that glass, 
Mr. Pickwick took another, just to see whether there was any orange-peel in the 
punch, because orange-peol always disagreed with him; and, finding that there 
was not, Mr. Pickwick took another glass to the health of their absent friend, and 
then felt himself imperatively called upon to propose another in honor of the 
punch-compounder, unknown. 



56 Sl)5 Bicfeens IBltUonnv^, 

This constant succession of glasses produced considerable effect upon Mr. 
Kckwick; his countenance beamed with the most sunny smiles; laughter played 
around his lips ; and good-humored merriment twinkled in his eye. Yielding 
by degrees to the influence of the exciting liquid, rendered more so by the heat, 
Mr. Pickwick expressed a strong desire to recollect a song which he had heard in 
his infancy, and, the attempt proving abortive, sought to stimulate his memory 
with more glasses of punch, which appeared to have a quite contrary effect; for, 
from forgetting the words of the song, he began to forget how to articulate any 
words at all; and finally, after rising to his legs to address the company in an 
eloquent speech, he fell into the barrow, and fast asleep simultaneously. 

The basket having been repacked, and it being found perfectly impossible to 
awaken Mr. Pickwick from his torpor, some discussion took place whether it 
would be better for Mr. Weller to wheel his master back again, or to leave him 
where he was until they should be all ready to return. The latter course was at 
length decided on ; and as their further expedition was not to exceed an hour's 
duration, and as Mr. Weller begged very hard to be one of the party, it was de- 
termined to leave Mr. Pickwick asleep in the barrow, and to call for him on their 
return. So away they went, leaving Mr. Pickwick snoring most comfortably in 
the shade. 

That Mr. Pickwick would have continued to snore in the shade until his friends 
came back, or, in default thereof, until the shades of evening had fallen on the 
landscape, there appears no reasonable cause to doubt; always supposing that he 
had been suffered to remain there in peace. But he was not suffered to remain 
there in peace. And this is what prevented him. 

Captain Boldwig was a little fierce man in a stiff black neckerchief and blue 
surtout, who, when he did condescend to walk about his property, did it in com- 
pany with a thick rattan stick with a brass ferule, and a gardener and sub-garden- 
er with meek faces, to whom (the gardeners, not the stick) Captain Boldwig 
gave his orders with all due grandeur and ferocity ; for Captain Boldwig's wife's 
sister had married a marquis, and the captain's house was a villa, and his land 
" grounds ; " and it was all very high and mighty and great. 

Mr. Pickwick had not been asleep half an hour, when little Captain Boldwig, fol- 
lowed by the two gardeners, came striding along as fast as his size and importance 
would let him ; and, when he came near the oak-tree, Captain Boldwig paused, 
and drew a long breath, and looked at the prospect, as if he thought the prospect 
ought to be highly gratified at having him to take notice of it ; and then he struck 
the ground emphatically with his stick, and summoned the head-gardener. 

" Hunt," said Captain Boldwig. 

" Yes, sir," said the gardener. 

" Roll this place to-morrow morning. Do you hear. Hunt ? " 

*' Yes, sir." 

"And take care that you keep me this place in good order. Do you heai, 
Hunt?" 

« Yes, sir.'» 

" And remind me to have a board done about trespassers and spring-guns, 
and all that sort of thing, to keep the common people out. Do you hear, Hunt; 
do you hear ? " 

"I '11 not forget it, sir." 

" I beg your pardon, sir," said the other man, advancing, with his hand to 
his hat. 

" Well, Wilkins, what 's the matter with you 7" said Captain Boldwig. 

" I beg your pardon, sir; but I think there have been trespassers here to-dav " 



STiJe 3Picfttoicfe papers. 67 

" Ha I " said the captain, scowling around him. 

" Yes, sir. They have been dining here, I think, sir." 

" Why, damn their audacity I so they have," said Captain Boldwig, as the crumbs 
and fragments that w^ere strewn upon tlie grass met his eye. '' They have been 
actually devouring their food here. I wish I had the vagabonds here I " said the 
captain, clinching the thick stick. 

" I wish I had the vagabonds here 1 " said the captain wrathfully. 

" Beg your pardon, sir," said Wilkins ; " but " — 

"But what? Eh?" roared the captain; and, following the timid glance of 
Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheelbarrow and Mr. Pickwick. 

"Who are you, you rascal?" said the captain, administering several pokes to 
Mr. Pickwick's body with the thick stick. '• What 's your name ? " 

" Cold punch," murmured Mr. Pickwick as he sunk to sleep again. 

*' What ? " demanded Captain Boldwig. 

No reply. 

'' What did he say his name was ? " ask^d the captain. 

" Punch, I think, sir," replied Wilkins. 

" That 's his impudence : that 's his confounded impudence 1 " said Captain Bold- 
wig. " He 's only feigning to be asleep now," said the captain in a high passion. 
*' He 's drunk ; he 's a drunken plebeian. Wheel him away, Wilkins ; wheel him 
away directly." 

" Where shall I wheel him to, sir ? " inquired Wilkins with great timidity. 

"Wheel him to the Devil," replied Captain Boldwig. 

" Very well, sir," said Wilkins. 

" Stay," said the captain. 

Wilkins stopped accordingly. 

" Wheel him I " said the captain, — " wheel him to the pound; and let us see 
whether he calls himself Punch when he comes to himself. He shall not bully 
me : he shall not bully me I Wheel him away ! " 

Away Mr. Pickwick was wheeled in compliance with this imperious mandate; 
and the great Captain Boldwig, swelling with indignation, proceeded on his walk. 

Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when they returned, to 
find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and taken the wheelbarrow with him. 
It was tlie most mysterious and unaccountable thing that was ever heard of. For a 
lame man to have got upon his legs without any previous notice, and walked off, 
would have been most extraordinary; but when it came to his wheeling a heavy 
barrow before him, by way of amusement, it grew positively miraculous. They 
searched every nook and corner round, together and separately : they shouted, 
whistled, laughed, called, — and all with the same result. Mr. Pickwick was not 
to be found; and, after some hours of fruitless search, they arrived at the unwel- 
come conclusion, that they must go home without him. 

Meanwhile Mr. Pickwick had been wheeled to the pound, and safely deposited 
therein, fast asleep in the wheelbarrow, to the immeasurable delight and satisfac- 
tion, not only of all the boys in the village, but three-fourths of the whole popula- 
tion, who liad gathered round in expectation of his waking. If their most in- 
tense gratification had been awakened by seeing him wheeled in, how many 
iiundred-fold was their joy increased, when, after a few indistinct cries of " Sam I " 
he sat up in the barrow, and gazed with indescribable astonishment on the faces 
oefoi-e him I 

A general shout was, of course, the signal of his having woke up; and his in- 
roluntary inquiry of " What 's the matter ? " occasioned another, louder than the 
first, if possible. 



58 CC&e ©fcltens IBictfonatj. 

" Here 's a game I " roared the populace. 

"Where am I ?" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 

" In the pound," replied the mob. 

*' How came I here ? What was I doing ? Where was I brought from ? ** 

" Boldwig — Captain Boldwig," was the only reply. 

" Let me out I " cried Mr. Pickwick. " Where 's my servant ? Where are my 
friends?" 

" You an't got no friends. Hurrah I " And then there came a turnip, and then 
a potato, and then an egg, 'rtrith a few other little tokens of the playful disposition 
of the many-headed. 

How long this scene might have lasted, or how much Mr. Pickwick might havn 
suffered, no one can tell, had not a carriage, which was driving swiftly by, sudden- 
ly pulled up, from whence there descended old Wardle and Sam Weller, the for- 
mer of whom, in far less time than it takes to write it, if not to read it, had made 
his way to Mr. Pickwick's side, and placed him in the vehicle, just as the lat- 
ter had concluded the third and last round of a single combat with the town- 
beadle. 

" Run to the justice's," cried a dozen of voices. 

" Ah, run avay 1 " said Mr. Weller, jumping up on the box. " Give my com- 
pliments — Mr. Veller's compliments — to the justice, and tell him I've spoiled 
his beadle, and that, if he '11 svear in a new 'un, I '11 come back agin to-morrow 
and spoil him. Drive on, old feller 1 " 

"I'll give directions for the commencement of an action for false imprison- 
ment against this Captain Boldwig directly I get to London," said Mr. Pickwick, 
as soon as the carriage turned out of the town. 

" We were trespassing, it seems," said Wardle. 

" I don't care," said Mr. Pickwick : " I '11 bring the action." 

" No, you won't," said Wardle. 

" I will by " — But, as there was a humorous expression in Wardle's face, 
Mr. Pickwick checked himself, and said, " Why not ? " 

" Because," said old Wardle, half bursting with laughter, " because they might 
turn round on some of us, and say we had taken too much cold punch." 

Do what he would, a smile would come into Mr. Pickwick's face ; the smile ex- 
tended into a laugh, the laugh into a roar, and the roar became general. So, to 
keep up their good-humor, they stopped at the first roadside tavern they came 
to, and ordered a glass of brandy and water all round, with a magnum of extra 
strength for Mr. Samuel Weller. 

A serious trouble, however, is in store for Mr. Pickwick. One- 
morning, his servant hands him a letter in a strange hand. 

" I don't know this hand," said Mr. Pickwick, opening the letter. " Mercy on 
as I what 's this ? It must be a jest : it — it — can't be true." 

" What 's the matter ? " was the general inquiry. 

*' Nobody dead, is there ? " said Wardle, alarmed at the horror in Mr. Pick- 
wick's countenance. 

Mr. Pickwick made no reply, but pushing the letter across the table, and desir- 
ing Mr. Tupman to read it aloud, fell back in his chair with a look of vacant as- 
tonishment quite alarming to behold. 

Mr. Tupman, with a trembling voice, read the letter, of which t he following i? 
• copy : — 



Eftt 33icfttDfcfe diapers. 59 

Fbebman's Court, Cobnhill, Aug. 23, 1830. 
Bardell against Pickwick, 
Sir, — Having "been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence an action 
against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for which the plaintiif lays her 
damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg to inform you that a writ has been is- 
sued against you iu this suit, in the Court of Common Pleas; and request to know, 
by return of post, the name of your attorney in London who will accept service 

thereof. 

We are, sir, 

Your obedient servants, 

DoDSON AND Fogg. 
Afr. Samuel Piclcwich. 

Mr. Pickwick is for some time inclined to think the letter a Joke 
merely ; but he is reminded of the fact, that, on one occasion, he was 
seen with Mrs. Bardell in his arms, endeavoring to soothe her an- 
guish. Finding himself the " victim of circumstances," and seeino- 
that the case is likely to be a serious one, he seeks his solicitor in 
Loudon, who engages to retain Serjeant Snubbin, an advocate who is 
" at the very top of his profession," and " leads the court by the nose." 
The case comes on in due time ; and, on the morning of the trial, Mr. 
Pickwick, being escorted into court, stands up in agitation, and takes 
a glance around him. 

There were already a pretty large sprinkling of spectators in the gallery, and a 
numerous muster of gentlemen in wigs in the barristers' seats, who presented, as 
a body, all that pleasing and extensive variety of nose and whiskers for which the 
bar of England is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen as had got a brief 
to carry carried it in as conspicuous a manner as possible, and occasionally 
scratched their noses therewith, to impress the fact more strongly on the observa- 
tion of the spectators. Other gentlemen, who had no briefs to show, carried 
under their arms goodly octavos, with a red label behind, and that under-done-pie- 
crust-colored cover, which is technically known as "law calf." Others, who had 
neither briefs nor books, thrust their hands into their pockets, and looked as wise 
as they could. The whole, to the great wonderment of Mr. Pickwick, were divided 
into little groups, who were chatting, and discussing the news of the day iu the 
most unfeeling manner possible, just as if no trial at all were coming on. 

A loud cry of " Silence I " announced the entrance of the judge, who was most 
particularly short, and so fat, that he seemed all face and waistcoat. He rolled in 
upon two little turned legs ; and having bobbed to the bar, who bobbed to him, 
put his little legs underneath his table, and his little three-cornered hat upon it: 
a sensation was then perceptible in the body of the court ; and immediately after- 
wards Mrs. Bardell, the plaintifiF, supported by Mrs. Cluppins, her bosom-friend 
number one, was led in in a drooping state. An extra-sized umbrella was then 
handed in by Mr. Dodson, and a pair of pattens by Mr. Fogg (Dodson and Fogg 
being the plaintilTs attorneys), each of whom had prepared a sympathizing and 
melancholy face for the occasion. Mrs. Sanders, bosom-friend number two, then 
appeared, leading in Master Bardell, whom she placed on the floor of the court in 
front of his hysterical mother, —a commanding position, in which he could not 
fail to awaken the sympathy of both judge and jury. This was not done without 



60 8r|)e Bicfeens Bfctfonars. 

considerable opposition on the part of the young gejitleman himself, who had 
misgivings that his being placed in the full glare of the judge's eye was only a for- 
mal prelude to his being immediately ordered away for instant execution. 

" I am for the plaintiff, my lord," said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz. 

Court. — " Who is Avith you, Brother Buzfuz ? " 

Mr. Skimpin bowed, to intimate that he was. 

" I appear for the defendant, my lord," said Mr. Serjeant Snubbin. 

Court. — " Anybody with you, Brother Snubbin ? » 

" Mr. Phunky, my lord." 

Court. — "Go on." 

Mr. Skimpin proceeded to " open the case ; " and the case appeared to have 
very little inside it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he knew 
completely to himself. 

Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity which the grave na- 
ture of the proceedings demanded, and having whispered to Dodson, and conferred 
briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and ad- 
dressed the jury. 

Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole course of his profes- 
sional experience, — never, from the very first moment of his applying himself to 
the study and practice of the law, had he approached a case with such a heavy 
sense of the responsibility imposed upon htm, — a responsibility he could never 
have supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction, so strong 
that it amounted to positive certainty, tliat the cause of truth and justice, or, in 
other words, the cause of his much-injured and most-oppressed client, must pre- 
vail with the high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw in that 
box before him. 

Counsel always begin in this way, because it puts the jury on the best terms 
with themselves, and makes them think what sharp fellows they must be. A visi- 
ble effect was produced immediately; several jurymen beginning to take volumi- 
nou8,notes. 

" You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen," continued Serjeant 
Buzfuz, well knowing, that, from the learned friend alluded to, the gentlemen of 
the jury had heard nothing at all, — *' you have heard from my learned friend, 
gentlemen, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which 
the damages are laid at one thousand five hundred pounds. But you have not 
heard from my learned friend, inasmuch as it did not come within my learned 
friend's province to tell you, what are the facts and circumstances of this case. 
Those facts and circumstances, gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and 
proved by the unimpeachable female whom I will place in that box before you. 

"The plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, 
after enjoying for many years the esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one 
of the guardians of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the 
world to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a custom-house can never 
afford." 

This was a pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who had been 
knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a public-house cellar. 

"Sometime before Mr. Bardell 's death he had stamped his likeness upon a lit- 
tle boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. 
Bardell shrunk from the world, and courted the retirement and tranquillity of Gos- 
well Street; and here she placed in her front-parlor window a written placard, 
bearing this inscription : ' Apartments furnished for a single gentleman. Inquire 
within.' " Here Serjeant Buzfuz paused, while several gentlemen of the jury 
took a note of the document. 



" There is no date to that, is there, sir ? " inquired a juror. 

" There is no date, gentlemen ; but I am instructed to say that it was put in the 
plaintiflPs parlor-window just this time three years. Now I entreat the attention 
of the jury to the wording of this document : ' Apartments furnished for a single 
gentleman ' I ' Mr. Bardell,' said the widow, — * Mr. Bardell was a man of honor ; 
Mr. Bardell was a man of his word ; Mr. Bardell was no deceiver ; Mr. Bardell was 
once a single gentleman himself; in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see 
something to remind me of what Sir. Bardell was when he first won my young 
and untried affections ; to a single gentleman shall my lodgings be let.' Actuated 
by this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect 
nature, gentlemen), the desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, 
caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put thebill up in her parlor- 
window. Did it remain therelong ? No. Before the bill had been in the parlor 
window three days, — three days, gentlemen, — a being erect upon two legs, and 
bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at 
Mrs. Bardell's door. He inquired within; he took the lodgings; and on the very 
next day he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick, — Pick- 
wick the defendant." 

Serjeant Buzfuz here paused for breath. The silence awoke Mr. Justice Stare* 
leigh, who immediately wrote down something with a pen without any ink in it, 
and looked unusually profound, to impress the jury with the belief that he always 
thought most deeply with his eyes shut. 

" Of this man Pickwick I will say little: the subject presents but few attrac- 
tions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen, the men, to de- 
light in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness and of systematic villany." 

Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence, gave a violent start, as if 
some vague idea of assaulting Serjeant Buzfuz, in the august presence of justice 
and law, suggested itself to his mind. 

"I say systematic villany, gentlemen," said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking through 
Mr. Pickwick, and talking at him ; " and, when I say systematic villany, let me tell 
the defendant, Pickwick, — if he be in court, as I am informed he is, — that it 
would have been more de(Jent in him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in 
better taste, if he had stopped away. 

" I shall show you, gentlemen, that, for two years, Pickwick continued to reside, 
without interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you, 
that on many occasions he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences, 
to her little boy ; and I shall prove to you, by a witness whose testimony it 
will be impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that, on one oc- 
casion, he patted the boy on the head, and, after inquiring whether he had won 
any alley tors or commoTieys lately (both of which I understand to be a particular 
species of marbles much prized by the youth of this town), made use of this re- 
markable expression: < How should you like to have another father?* I shall 
prove to you, gentlemen, on the testimony of three of his own friends, — most 
unwilling witnesses, gentlemen, most unwilling witnesses, — that on that morn- 
ing he was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her 
agitation by his caresses and endearments. 

" And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between 
these parties, — letters which are admitted to be in the handwriting of the defend- 
ant. Let me read the first : — ' Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B. — Chops 
and tomato-sauce. Yours, PICKV^CK.' Gentlemen, what does this mean? 
Chops I Gracious heavens I and tomato-sauce 1 Gentlemen, is the happiness of a 
sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these ? 
6 



62 2CJ)e 33ickens Bictionars. 

The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. 'Dear Mrs. B., 1 
shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach.' And then follows this very re- 
markable expression. ' Don't trouble yourself about the warming-pan.' Why, 
gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan ? Why is Mrs. Bardell 
so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless it is, 
as I assert it to be, a mere cover for hidden fire, — a mere substitute for some en- 
dearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, 
artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion, and 
which I am not in a condition to explain ? 

''Enough of this. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined. But Pickwick, 
gentlemen, — Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert 
of Goswell Street, — Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on 
the sward, — Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato 
sauce and warming-pans, — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effron- 
tery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, gentlemen, 
heavy damages, are the only punishment with which you can visit him, the only 
recompense you can award to my client. And for those damages she now appeals 
to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, 
a sympathizing, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen." 

With this beautiful peroration, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice 
Stareleigh woke up. 

'' Call Elizabeth Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a minute afterwards, 
with renewed vigor. 

"Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins, — do you recollect being in l^Irs. Bardell's 
back one pair of stairs on one particular morning in July last, when she was dust- 
ktig Pickwick's apartment ? " 

'• Yes, my lord and jury, I do." 

" Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe ? " 

" Yes, it were, sir." 

Court. — " What were you doing in the back-room, ma'am?" 

" My lord and jury, I will not deceive you.'-' 

Court. — " You had better not, ma'am." 

*• I was there unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell. I had been out with a little basket, 
gentlemen, to buy three pound of red kidney purtaties, which was three pound 
tuppense ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's street-door on the jar." 

Court. — " On the what ?" 

" Partly open, my lord." 

Court. — " She said on the jar." 

" It 's all the same, my lord." 

The little judge looked doubtful, and said he 'd make a note of it. 

" I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good-mornin', and went in a permiscuoua 
manner up stairs, and into the back-room. Gentlemen, there was the sound of 
voices in the front-room, and " — 

" And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins ? " 

" Beggin' your pardon, sir, I would scorn the haction. The voices was very 
loud, sir, and forced themselves upon my ear." 

" Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the voices. Was 
»ne of those voices Pickwick's ? " 

" Yes, it were, sir." 

And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick addressed himself 
lo Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degreos, and by dint of many questions, the 
conversation she had heard. Which, like many other conversations repeated uu- 



der such circumstances, or, indeed, like many other conversations repeated under 
any circumstances, was of the smallest possible importance in itself. 

Mrs. Cluppins, having broken the ice, thought it a favorable opportunity for 
entering into a short dissertation on her own domestic affairs : so she straight- 
way proceeded to inform the court that she was the mother of eight children at 
that present speaking, and that she entertained confident expectations of present- 
ing Mr. Cluppins with a ninth somewhere about that day six months. At this 
interesting point, the little judge interposed most irascibly; and the worthy lady 
was taken out of court. 

" Nathaniel Winkle I " said Mr. Skimpin. 

"Here I" Mr. Winkle entered the witness-box, and, having been duly sworu, 
bowed to the judge, who acknowledged the compliment by saying, — 
Court. — '■' Don't look at me, sir : look at the jury." 

Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place where he thought the 
jury might be. 

Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin. 

" Now, sir, have the goodness to let his lordship and the jury know what your 
name is ; wiU you ? " Mr. Skimpin inclined his head on one side, and listened with 
great sharpness for the answer, as if to imply that he rather thought Mr. Win- 
kle's natural taste for perjury would induce him to give some name which did not 
belong to him. 
" Winkle." 

Court. — " Have you any Christian name, sir ?" 
" Nathaniel, sir." 

Court. — ' * Daniel, — any other name ? " 
" Nathaniel, sir, — my lord, I mean." 
Court. — " Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel?'* 
" No, my lord, only Nathaniel ; not Daniel at all." 
Court. — " What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir ?" 
" I did n't, my lord." 

Court. — " You did, sir. How could I have got Daniel on my notes unless you 
told me so, sir ? " 

"Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my lord: we shall find mean? to re- 
fresh it before \^e have quite done with him, I dare say. Now, Mr. Winkle, attend 
to me, if you please, sir; and let me recommend you to be careful. I believe you 
are a particular friend of Pickwick the defendant; are you not ? '* 

"I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this moment, 
nearly " — 

" Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or are you not, a par- 
ticular friend of the defendant's ? " 
" I was just about to say that" — 
" Will you, or will you not, answer my question, sir?" 

Court. — "If you don't answer the question, you '11 be committed to prison, 
sir." 

"Yes; I am." 

" Yes ; you are. And could n't you say that at once, sir ? Perhaps you know the 
plaintiff too ? Eh, Mr. Winkle ? " 

" I don't know her; but I 've seen her." 

" Oh ! you don't know her : but you 've seen her ? Now have the goodness to tell 
the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that, Mr. Winkle." 

" I mean that I am not intimate with her, but that I have seen her when I went 
to call on Mr. Pickwick in Goswell Street." 



64 Ct)e Bfcfeens Bictionatj. 

•' How often have you seen her, sir ?" 

" How often ? " 

"Yes, Mr. Winkle, — how often? I '11 repeat the question for you a dozen 
times if you require it, sir." 

On this question there arose the edifying browbeating customary on such 
points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quite impossible for him to say how 
many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her 
twenty times, to which he replied, " Certainly, — more than that." Then he was 
asked whether he had n't seen her a hundred times ; whether he could n't swear 
that he bad seen her more than fifty times ; whether he did n't know that he had 
seen her at least seventy-five times ; and so forth. 

" Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant Pickwick, at 
these apartments in the plaintiif 's house in Goswell Street, on one particular 
morning in the month of July last ? " 

"Yes; I do." 

" Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the name of Tupman, 
and another of the name of Snodgrass ?" 

"Yes; I was." 

" Are they here ? " 

" Yes ; they are," looking very earnestly towards the spot where his friends 
were stationed. 

" Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends," with an ex- 
pressive look at the jury. " They must tell tlieir stories without any previous con- 
sultation with you, if none has yet taken place "(another look at the jury). "Now, 
sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering the defendant's 
room on this particular morning. Come, out with it, sir : we must have it sooner 
or later." 

" The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff" in his arms, with his 
hands clasping her waist; and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away." 

" Did you hear the defendant say any thing ? " 

" I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature; and I heard him ask her to 
compose herself, for what a situation it was if anybody should come, — or words 
to that effect." 

" Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you. Will you under- 
take to swear that Pickwick the defendant did not say, on the occasion in ques- 
tion, 'My dear IMrs. Bardell, you 're a good creature ; compose 5'ourself to this sit- 
uation, for to this situation you must come,' — or words to that effect ? " 

"I — I did n't understand him so certainly. I was on the staircase, and could 
n't hear distinctly : the impression on my mind is '' — 

" The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on your mind, Mr. 
Winkle, which, I fear, would be of little service to honest, straightforward men. 
fou were on the staircase, and did n't distinctly hear; but you will not swear that 
Pickwick did not make use of the expressions I have quoted ? So I understand 
that?" 

" No : I will not." 

" You may leave the box, sir." 

Tracy Tupman and Augustus Snodgrass were severally called into the box : 
both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy friend ; and each was driven to 
the verge of desperation by excessive badgering. 

Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by Serjeant Buzfuz, and 
cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin. Had always said and believed that Pick- 
wick would marry Mrs. Bardell. Knew that Mrs. BardeU's being engaged to Pick- 



wick was the current topic of conversation in the neighborhood after the fainting 
in July. Had heard Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have anoth- 
er father. Did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keeping company 
with the baker, but did know that the baker was then a single man, and is now 
married. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morning in July, because 
Pickwick asked her to name the day ; knew that she (witness) fainted away stone 
dead when Mr. Sanders asked her to name the day, and believed that anybody as 
called herself a lady would do the same under similar circumstances. During the 
period of her keeping company with BIr. Sanders, she had received love-letters, 
like other ladies. In the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often 
called her a "duck;" but he had never called her " chops," nor yet "tomato- 
sauce." 

Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had yet exhibited, if 
that were possible, and said, " Call Samuel Weller." 

It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for Samuel Weller stepped 
into the box the instant his name was pronounced; and placing his hat on the 
floor, and his arms on the rail, took a bird's-eye view of the bar and a comprehen- 
sive survey of the bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect. 

Court. — " What 's your name, sir ? " 

" Sam Weller, my lord." 

Court. — " Do you spell it with a ' V,' or with a ' W ' ? " 

" That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my lord. I never had 
occasion to spell it more than once or twice in my life ; but I spells it with a ' V.' " 

Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed, " Quite right too, Samivel; quite right. 
Put it down a we, my lord, put it down a we." 

Court. — " Who is that who dares to address the court ? Usher." 

" Yes, my lord." 

Court. — " Bring that person here instantly." 

" Tes, my lord." 

But, as the usher did n't find the person, he did n't bring him ; and, after a great 
commotion, all the people who had got up to look for the culprit sat down again. 
The little judge turned to the witness as soon as his indignation would allow him 
to speak, and said, — 

Court. — " Do you know who that was, sir ? " 

" I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord." 

Court. — " Do you see him here now ? " 

Sam stared up into the lantern in the roof of the court, and said, " Wy, no, 
my lord, I can't say that I do see him at the present moment." 

Court. — " If you could have pointed him out, I would have sent him to jail 
instantly." 

Sam bowed his acknowledgments. 

" Now, Mr. Weller," said Serjeant Buzfuz. 

** Now, sir." 

" I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant in this case. 
8peak up, if you please, Mr. Weller." 

" I mean to speak up, sir. I am in the service o' that 'ere gen'l'man, and a 
ivery good service it is." 

" Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose ? " 

" Oh I quite enough to get^ sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered him three 
nundred and fifty lashes." 

Court. — "You must not tell us what the soldier said, unless the soldier ia 
91 court, and is examined in the usual way : it 's not evidence." 
6* 



66 ffi!)e Bicfeens SSictfonarjj. 

" "Wery good, my lord." 

" Do you recollect any thing particular happening on the morning when yon 
were first engaged by the defendant ? Eh, Mr. Weller ? " 

" Yes, I do, sir." 

" Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was." 

" I had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that mornin', gen'l'men of the jury; and 
that was a wery partickler and uncommon circumstance vith me in tliose days." 

The judge looked sternly at Sara ; but Sam's features were so perfectly serene 
that the judge said nothing. 

*' Do 3'ou mean to tell me, Mr. "Weller, that you saw nothing of this fainting on 
the part of the plaintiflT in the arms of the defendant, which you have heard de- 
scribed by the witnesses ? " 

" Certainly not, sir. I was in the passage till they called me up ; and then the 
old lady as you call the plaintiff, — she warn't there, sir." 

" You were in the passage, and yet saw nothing of what was going forward? 
Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller ?" 

" Yes, I have a pair of eyes ; and that 's just it. If they wos a pair o' patent 
double million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'r'aps I might be able 
to see through two flights o' stairs and a deal-door; but bein' only eyes, you see, 
my wision 's limited." 

"Now, Mr. Weller, I '11 ask you a question on another point, if you please." 

" If you please, sir." 

"Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night in November ? " 

" Oh, yes ! wery well." 

" Oh I you do remember that, Mr. Weller. I thought we should get at something 
at last." 

" I rayther thought that, too, sir." 

"Well, I suppose you went up to have a little talk about the trial, — eh, Mr. 
Weller ? " 

" I went up to pay the rent ; but we did get a-talkin' about the trial." 

" Oh 1 you did get a-talking about the trial. Now, what passed about the trial ? 
Will you have the goodness to tell us, Mr. Weller ?" 

"' Vith all the pleasure in life, sir. Arter a few unimportant obserwations from 
the two wirtuous females as has been examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a 
wery great state o' admiration at the honorable conduct of Mr. Dodson and Mr. 
Fogg, — them two gen'l'men as is settin' near you now." 

" The attorneys for the plaintiff. Well, they spoke in high praise of the hon- 
orable conduct of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiff; did 
they?" 

" Yes : they said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' them to have taken up the 
case on spec, and not to charge nothin' af all for costs unless they got 'em out of 
Mr. Pickwick." 

" It 's perfectly useless, my lord, attempting to get at any evidence through the 
impenetrable stupidity of this witness. I will not trouble the court by asking him 
any more questions. Stand down, sir. That 's my case, my lord." 

Serjeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the defendant, and did 
the best he could for Mr. Pickwick; and the best, as everybody knows, could do 
no more. 

Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up in the old-established form. He read as 
much of his notes to the jury as he could decipher on so short a notice ; he did n't 
read xs much of them as he could n't make out ; and he made running comments on 
the ev^idence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell were right, it was perfectly clear 



2C|)e 33i'clttoiclt 33ap^rs. 67 

Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and, if they thought tlie evidence of Mrs. Cluppins wor- 
thy of credence, they would believe it; and if they did n't, why, tliey would n't. 

Tlie jury then retired to tlieir private room to talk the matter over, and the judge 
retired to Ms private room to refresh himself with a mutton-chop and a glass of 
sherry. 

An anxious quarter of an hour elapsed; the jury came back; and the judge was 
fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, and gazed at the foreman. 

" Gentlemen, are you all agreed upon your verdict ?" 

" We are." 

*' Do you And for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant ?" 

"For the plaintiff." 

" With what damages, gentlemen ? " 

'' Seven hundred and fifty pounds." 

Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the glasses, folded them 
into the case, and put them in his pocket ; then having drawn on his gloves with 
great nicety, and stared at the foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. 
Perker and the blue bag out of court. 

They stopped in a side-room while Perker paid the court-fees; and here Mr. 
Pickwick was joined by his friends. Here, too, he encountered Messrs. Dodson 
and Fogg, rubbing their hands with every token of outward satisfaction. 

'' Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Well, sir," said Dodson, for self and partner. 

" You imagine you '11 get your costs ; don't you, gentlemen ? " said Mr. Pickwick. 

Fogg said they thought it rather probable ; and Dodson smiled, and said they 'd 
try. 

" You may try and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg," said Mr. 
Pickwick vehemently; '' but not one farthing of costs or damages do you ever get 
from rae, if I spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison." 

"Ha, ha I" said Dodson, "you '11 think better of that before next term, Mr. 
Pickwick." 

" He, he, he I we '11 soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick," grinned Fogg. 

Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to be led by his soli- 
citor and friends to the door, and there assisted into a hackney-coach, which had 
been fetched for the purpose by the ever-watchful Sam Weller. 

Sam had put up the steps, and was preparing to jump on the box, when he felt 
himself gently touched on the shoulder; and his father stood before him. 

" Samivel, the gov'nor ought to have been got off with a alleybi. Ve got Tom 
Vildspai-k off o' that 'ere manslaughter (that come of hard driving), vith a alleybi, 
ven all the big vigs to a man said as nothing could n't save him. I know'd what 
'ud come o' this here way o' doin' bisniss. O Sammy, Sammy I vy worn't there a 
Bileybi?" 

Mr. Pickwick sticks to his determination, and goes to prison. Sam 
Weller, desperate at being separated from his master, borrows twenty- 
five pounds of his father, whom he gets to arrest him for debt, and 
so follows Mr. Pickwick. 

Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, having got a cognovit from Mrs. Bardell, 
after the trial, for the amount of costs, by representing that it was a 
mere matter of form, take her in execution for them, and send her 
also to the Fleet. Here she meets Mr. Pickwick, who, finding that 



68 2ri)e ©fcfeens ISictfonacg. 

nobody can release her from that den of wretchedness but himself, 
and that he can only do so by paying the entire costs of the suit 
(both of plaintifl' and defendant), and being also moved to the same 
course by divers other good reasons, pays them, and sets both him- 
self and Mrs. Bardell at liberty ; whereupon Sam Weller procures 
from his attorney a formal discharge, which" his prudent papa has 
had the foresight to leave in the hands of that gentleman to be 
used in any case of emergency. 

Mr. Pickwick having, not long afterwards, withdrawn from the 
club bearing his name (which circumstance, coupled with others, 
occasions its dissolution), determines to settle down at Dulwich. 
He sees all his young friends happily married, including the devoted 
Sam Weller, who takes to himself a wife, who is installed as Mr. 
Pickwick's housekeeper. And thus Mr. Pickwick's biography ter- 
minates while the " sunshine of the world is blazing full upon 
him." 

Pipkin, Nathaniel. The " Parish Clerk " in Mr. Pickwick's tale 
of that name. He is a harmless, good-natured little being, of a 
very nervous temperament, and with a cast in his eye and a halt in 
his gait. He falls in love with the beautiful Maria Lobbs, but sees 
her married to another. (Ch. xvii.) 

Podder, Mr. A member of the All-Muggleton Cricket Club. 
(Ch. vii.) 

Pott, Mr. Editor of "The Eatanswill Gazette." (Ch. xiii, xv, 
xviii.) 

Pott, Mrs. Wife of the editor of "The Eatanswill Gazette." 
(Ch. xiii, XV, xviii, li.) 

Price, Mr. A coarse, vulgar young man, with a sallow face and a 
harsh voice ; a prisoner for debt, whom Mr. Pickwick encounters 
in the " coffee-room " of the sponging-house in Coleman Street. 
(Ch. xl.) 

Pruffle. A servant to a scientific gentleman at Bath. (Ch. xxxix.) 

Raddle, Mr. Husband to Mrs. Raddle. (Ch. xxxii, xlvi.) 

Raddle, Mrs. Mary Ann. Mr. Bob Sawyer's landlady ; sister 
to Mrs. Cluppins, and a thorough shrew. (Ch. xxxii, xlvi.) 

Rogers, Mrs. A lodger at Mrs. Bardell's. (Ch. xlvi.) 

Roker, Mr. Tom. A turnkey at the Fleet prison. (Ch. xl-xlv.) 

Sam. A cab-driver. (Ch. ii.) 

Sanders, Mrs. Susannah. A bosom-friend of Mrs. Bardell's. 
(Ch. xxvi, xxxiv.) 



Sawyer, Bob- A medical student whom Mr. Pickwick meets at 
Mr. Wardle's. He afterwards hangs out his sign (Sawyer, late 
Nockemorf ) as a medical practitioner, in Bristol, where Mr. Win- 
kle meets him. He has a very nice place ; but " half the draws 
have got nothing in 'em, and the other half don't open." Indeed, 
"hardly any thing real in the shop but the leeches; and they are 
second-hand.'* Mr. Sawyer keeps a boy, whose duties are thus 
d ascribed : — 

" He goes up to a house, rings the area-bell, pokes a packet of medicine with- 
out a direction into the servant's hand, and walks off. Servant takes it into the 
dining-parlor ; master opens it, and reads the label: 'Draught to be taken at 
bed-time; pills as before; lotion as usual; the powder. From Sawyer's, late 
Nockemorf's. Physicians' prescriptions carefully prepared:' and all the rest 
of it. Shows it to his wife ; she reads the label. It goes down to the servants ; 
they read the label. Next day the boy calls: 'Very sorry — his mistake — 
immense business — great many parcels to deliver — Mr. Sawyer's compliments 
— late Nockemorf.' The name gets known; and that 's the thing, my boy, in 
the medical way. Bless your heart, old fellow, it 's better than all the advertising 
in the world I We have got one four-ounce bottle that 's been to half the houses 
in Bristol, and has n't done yet." ... 

" The lamp-lighter has eighteen pence a week to pull the night-bell for ten 
minutes every time he comes round; and my boy always rushes into church just 
before the psalms,, when the people have got nothing to do but look about 'em, 
and calls me out, with horror and dismay depicted on his countenance. ' Bless 
my soul 1 ' everybody says, ' somebody taken suddenly ill. Sawyer, late Nockem- 
orf, sent for. "What a business that young man has I ' " 

(Ch. XXX, xxxii, xxxviii, xlviii, 1-lii.) See Hopkins, Jack. 
Shepherd, The. See Stiggins, The Reverend Mr. 
Siminery, Frank, Esq. A smart young stock-broker. (Ch. Iv.) 
Simpson, Mr. A prisoner in the Fleet. (Ch. xlii.) 
Skimpin, Mr. Junior counsel with Serjeant Buzfuz for Mrs. Bar- 
dell, in her suit against Mr. Pickwick. (Ch. xxxiv.) See Pick- 
wick, Samuel. 
Slammer, Doctor. Surgeon of the Ninety-seventh Eegiment, 
present at a charity ball at the Bull Inn, Rochester. The slim 
Mr. Jingle and the stout ]Mr. Tupman desire to attend the same 
ball; but Mr. Jingle happens not to have a change of clothing. He 
therefore induces Mr. Tupman (although they are comparative 
strangers) to borrow a suit belonging to Mr. Winkle, who has been 
indulging too freely in wine at the table, and has fallen fast asleep. 
Mr. Jingle, being a very wide-awake and plausible person, makes a 
decided impression on an elderly and wealthy widow-lady, who is the 
object of Doctor Slammer's unremitting attention. 



70 8r!)e Bfcfeensf ISfctfonarg. 

Upon the doctor and the widow the eyes both of Mr. Tupman and his com- 
panion had been fixed for some time, when the stranger broke silence. 

"Lots of money — old girl — pompous doctor — not a bad idea — good fun," 
were the intelligible sentences which issued from his lips. Mr. Tupman looked 
inquisitively in his face. 

" I '11 dance with the widow," said the stranger. 

" Who is she ? " inquired Mr. Tupman. 

''Don't know — never saw her in all my life — cut out the doctor — here 
goes." And the stranger forthwith crossed the room; and, leaning against a 
mantle-piece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful and melancholy ad- 
miration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. Mr. Tupman looked on 
in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed rapidly. The little doctor danced 
with another lady — the widow dropped her fan; the stranger picked it up, and 
presented it, — a smile, a bow, a courtesy, a few words of conversation. The 
stranger walked boldly up to, and returned with, the master of the ceremonies; 
a little introductory pantomime, and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their 
places in a quadrille. 

The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great as it was, 
was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the doctor. The stranger 
was young, and the widow was flattered. The doctor's attentions were unheed- 
ed by the widow; and the doctor's indignation was wholly lost on his imper- 
turbable rival. Doctor Slammer was paralyzed. He, Doctor Slammer of the 
Ninety-seventh, to be extinguished in a moment by a man whom nobody had 
ever seen before, and whom nobody knew even now. Doctor Slammer, — Doc- 
tor Slammer of the Ninety-seventh rejected! Impossible! It could not be! 
Yes, it was : there they were. What ! introducing his friend I Could he believe 
his eyes I He looked again, and was under the painful necessity of admitting 
the veracity of his optics. Mrs. Budger was dancing with Mr. Tracy Tupman: 
there was no mistaking the fact. There was the widow before him, bouncing 
bodily here and there with unwonted vigor; and Mr. Tracy Tupman hopping 
about with a face expressive of the most intense solemnity, dancing (as a good 
many people do) as if a quadrille were not a thing to be laughed at, but a severe 
trial to the feelings, which it requires inflexible resolution to encounter. 

Silently and patiently did the doctor bear all this, and all the handings of negus, 
and watching for glasses, and darting for biscuits, and coquetting, that ensued; 
but, a few seconds after the stranger had disappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her 
carriage, he darted swiftly from the room, with every particle of his hitherto-bot- 
tled-up indignation effervescing from all parts of his countenance, in a perspira- 
tion of passion. 

The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside him. He spoke in a 
low tone, and laughed. The little doctor thirsted for his life. He was exulting. 
He had triumphed. 

" Sir I " said the doctor in an a^vful voice, producing a card, and retiring into an 
angle of the passage, "my name is Slammer, Doctor Slammer, sir — Ninety- 
seventh regiment — Chatham Barracks — my card, sir, my card." He would have 
added more; but his indignation choked him. 

"Ah!" replied the stranger coolly, " Slammer — much obliged — polite atten- 
tion— ^ot ill now, Slammer — but when I am — knock you up." 

"You — you 're a shuflaer, sir," gasped the furious doctor, "a poltroon, a cow- 
ard, a liar, a — a — will nothing induce you to give me your card, sir ? " 

"Oh! I see," said the stranger, half aside, "negus too strong here — liberal 
landlord — very foolish — very — lemonade much better — hot rooms — elderly gen- 



tleman — suffer for it in the morning — cruel —cruel;" and he moved on a step 
or two. 

" You are stopping in this house, sir," said the indignant little man : " you are 
intoxicated now, sir; you shall hear from me in the morning, sir. I shall find you 
out." 

" Rather you found me out than found me at home," replied the unmoved 
stranger. 

Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity as he fixed his hat on his head 
wich an indignant knock; and the stranger and Mr. Tupman ascended to the 
bedroom of the latter to restore the borrowed plumage to the unconscious Win- 
kle. 

That gentleman was fast asleep : the restoration was soon made. The stranger 
was extremely jocose; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, being quite bewildered with wine, 
negus, lights, and ladies, thought the whole affair an exquisite joke. His new 
friend departed ; and after experiencing some slight difficulty in finding the ori- 
fice in his night-cap originally intended for the reception of his head, and finally 
overturning his candlestick in his struggles to put it on, Mr. Tracy Tupman man- 
aged to get into bed by a series of complicated evolutions, and shortly afterwards 
sank into repose. 

Early on the following morning, inquiry is made at the inn for a 
gentleman wearing a bright blue dress-coat Avith a gilt button with 
' P. C on it ; and as Mr. Winkle answers to the description, he is 
awakened out of a sound tsleep, dijesses himself hastily, and goes down 
stairs to the coffee-room. 

An officer in undress uniform was looking out of the window. He turned 
round as Mr. Winkle entered, and made a stiff inclination of the head. Having 
ordered the attendants to retire, and closed the door very carefully, he said, 
'' Mr. Winkle, I presume ? " 

" My name is Winkle, sir." 

" You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you that I have called here this 
morning on behalf of my friend, Doctor Slammer of the Ninety-seventh." 

'' Doctor Slammer 1 " said Mr. Winkle. 

" Doctor Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion, that your conduct of 
last evening was of a description which no gentleman could endure, and (he 
added) wliich no one gentleman would pursue towards another." 

Mr. Winkle's astonishment was too real and too evident to escape the observa- 
tion of Doctor Slammer's friend : he therefore proceeded. " My friend. Doctor 
Slammer, requested me to add, that he is firmly persuaded you were intoxicated 
during a portion of the evening, and possibly unconscious of the extent of the 
insult you were guilty of. He commissioned me to say, that, should this be pleaded 
as an excuse for your behavior, he will consent to accept a written apology, to be 
penned by you from my dictation." 

"A written apology 1" repeated Mr. Winkle in the most emphatic tone of 
amazement possible. 

" Of course you know the alternative," replied the visitor coolly. 

"Were you intrusted with this message to me by name?" inquired Mr. Win- 
kle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused by this extraordinary conversa- 
tion. 

"I was not present myself," replied the visitor; "and, in consequence of your 
firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slammer, I was desired by that gentleman 



72 Cn 29icfeens 2!9fctionars. 

to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat, — a bright blue dress-coat, with a 
gilt button displaying a bust, and the letters ' P. C.' " 

Mr. "Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heard his own costume 
thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer's friend proceeded, — 

" From the inquiries I made at the bar just now, I was convinced that the 
owner of the coat in question arrived here, with three gentlemen, yesterday after- 
noon. I immediately sent up to the gentleman who was described as appearing 
the head of the party; and he at once referred me to you." 

If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walked from its founda- 
tion, and stationed itself opposite the coflfee-room-window, Mr. "Winkle's surprise 
would have been as nothing, compared with the profound astonishment with 
which he had heard this address. His first impression was that his coat had been 
stolen. " Will you allow me to detain you one moment ? " said he. 

" Certainly," replied the unwelcome visitor. 

Mr. "Winkle ran hastily up stairs, and witli a trembling hand opened the bag. 
There was the coat in its usual place, but exhibiting, on a close inspection, evident 
tokens of having been worn on the preceding night. 

" It must be so,'' said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from his hands, " I took 
too much wine after dinner, and have a very vague recollection of walking about 
the streets, and smoking a cigar afterwards. The fact is I was very drunk. I 
must have changed my coat, gone somewhere, and insulted somebody, — I have 
no doubt of it, — and this message is the terrible consequence." Saying which, 
Mr. "Winkle retraced his steps in the direction of the coflfee-room, with the gloomy 
and dreadful resolve of accepting the challenge of the warlike Doctor Slammer, 
and abiding by the worst consequences that might ensue. 

To this determination Mr. "Winkle was urged by a variety of considerations; the 
first of which was his reputation with the club. He had always been looked up to 
as a high authority on all matters of amusement and dexterity, whether oflensive, 
defensive, or inoffensive; and if, on this very first occasion of being put to the 
test, he shrunk back from the trial, beneath his leader's eye, his name and stand- 
ing were lost forever. Besides, he remembered to have heard it frequently 
surmised by the uninitiated in such matters, that, by an understood arrangement 
between the seconds, the pistols were seldom loaded with ball; and, furthermore, 
he reflected, that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass to act as his second, and depicted 
the danger in glowing terms, that gentleman might possibly communicate the 
intelligence to Mr. Pickwick, who would certainly lose no time in transmitting 
it to the local authorities, and thus prevent the kUling or maiming of his fol- 
lower. 

Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room, and intimated his 
intention of accepting the doctor's challenge. . . . 

That morning's breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman was not in a condi- 
tion to rise after the unwonted dissipation of the previous night; Mr. Snodgrass 
appeared to labor under a poetical depression of spirits ; and even Mr. Pickwick 
evinced an unusual attachment to silence and soda-water. Mr. "Winkle eagerly 
watched his opportunity. It was not long wanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposed a 
visit to the castle ; and, as Mr. "Winkle was the only other member of the party dis- 
posed to walk, they went out together. 

" Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle when they had turned out of the public street, — 
" Snodgrass, my dear feUow, can I rely upon your secrecy?" As he said this, he 
most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not, 

" You can," replied Mr. Snodgrass. " Hear me swear " — 

" No, no I " interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his companion's uncon- 
sciously pledging himself not to give information. ''Don't swear, don't swear: 
It's quite unnecessary." 



mt 3PtcfetDfcfe 33apers. 73 

Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had, in the spirit of poesy, raised 
towards the clouds as he made the above appeal, and assumed an attitude of at- 
tention. 

" I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of honor," said Mr. Win- 
kle. 

"You shall have it," replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his friend's hand. 

" With a doctor, — Doctor Slammer of the Ninety-seventh," — said Mr. Winkle, 
wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible : " an affair with an offi- 
cer, seconded by another officer, at sunset this evening, in a lonely field be}ond 
Fort Pitt." 

" I will attend you," said Mr. Snodgrass. 

He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It is extraordinary how cool 
any party but the principal can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle had forgotten this. 
He had judged of his friend's feelings by his own. 

" The consequences may be dreadful," said Mr. Winkle. 

" I hope not," said Mr. Snodgrass. 

" The doctor, I believe, is a very good shot," said Mr. Winkle. 

"Most of these military men are," observed Mr. Snodgrass calmly; "but so 
are you ; a'n't you ? " 

Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative ; and, perceiving that he had not alarmed 
his companion sufficiently, changed his ground. 

" Snodgrass," he said in a voice tremulous with emotion, " if I fall, you will 
find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note for my — for my father." 

This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected; but he undertook 
the delivery of the note as readily as if he had been a two-penny postman. 

"If I fall," said Mr. Winkle, " or, if the doctor falls, you, my dear friend, will 
be tried as an accessory before the fact. Shall I involve my friend in transpor- 
tation, — possibly for life I " 

Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this ; but his heroism was invincible. " In the 
cause of friendship," he fervently exclaimed, " I would brave all dangers." 

How Mr. Winkle cursed his companion's devoted friendship internally, as they 
walked silently along, side by side, for some minutes, each immersed in his own 
meditations I The morning was wearing away : he grew desperate. 

"Snodgrass," he said, stopping suddenly, " do not let me be balked in this mat- 
ter ; do not give information to the local authorities ; do not obtain the assist- 
ance of several peace-officers to take either me, or Doctor Slammer of the Nine- 
ty-seventh Regiment, at present quartered in Chatham Barracks, into custody, 
and thus prevent this duel, — I say, do not J' 

Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly, as he enthusiastically replied, 
" Not for worlds ! " 

A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle's frame, as the conviction that he had nothing 
to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was destined to become an animated 
target, rushed forcibly upon him. . . . 

It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on their awk- 
vard errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to escape observation; 
and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his the instruments of destruction. . . . 

" We are in excellent time," said Mr. Snodgrass as they climbed the fence of 
the first field : " the sun is just going down." Mr. Winkle looked up at the declin- 
*ng orb, and painfully thought of the probability of his " going down " himself, 
before long. 

" There's the officer," exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few minutes' walking. 

" Where ? " said Mr. Snodgrass. 

*' There, — the gentleman in the blue cloak." Mr. Snodgrass looked in the di- 



74 8E|)e Bicltens Bictionarg. 

rection indicated by the forefinger of his friend, and observed a figure muffled up 
as he had described. The officer evinced his consciousness of their presence by 
slightly beckoning with his hand; and the two friends followed him at a little dis- 
tance as he walked away. . . . [He] turned suddenly from the path ; and after 
clhnbing a paling, and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. Two gentle- 
men were waiting in it: one was a little fat man with black hair; and the 
other — a portly personage in a braided surtout — was sitting with perfect equa- 
nimity on a camp-stool. 

" The other party, and a surgeon, I suppose," said Mr. Snodgrass : " take a 
drop of brandy." Mr. "Winkle seized the wicker bottle which his friend proffered, 
and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid. 

" My friend, sir, Mr. Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle, as the officer approached. 
Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a case similar to that which Mr. 
Snodgrass carried. 

" We have nothing further to say, sir, I think," he coldly remarked, as he opened 
the case : " an apology has been resolutely declined." 

" Nothing, sir," said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather uncomfortable 
himself. . . . 

" We may place our men, then, I think," observed the officer, with as much in- 
ditFerence as if the principals were chess-men, and the seconds players. 

" I think we may," replied Mr. Snodgrass, who would have assented to any 
proposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officer crossed to 
Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle. 

" It 's all ready," he said, offering the pistol. *' Give me your cloak." 

" You have got the packet, my dear fellow ? " said poor Winkle. 

"All right," said Mr. Snodgrass. " Be steady, and wing him." . . . 

Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It is conjectured 
that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature intentionally was the cause of his 
shutting his eyes when he arrived at the fatal spot ; and that the circumstance of 
his eyes being closed prevented his observing the very 3xtraordinary and unac- 
countable demeanor of Doctor Salmmer. That gentleman started, stared, re- 
treated, rubbed his eyes, stared again, and finally shouted, " Stop, stop I " 

"What 's all this?" said Doctor Slammer, as* his friend and Mr. Snodgrass 
came running up. " That 's not the man." 

" Not the man I " said Doctor Slammer's second. 

" Not the man ! " said Mr. Snodgrass. 

"Not the man I " said the gentleman with the camp-stool in his hand. 

" Certainly not," replied the little doctor. " That 's not the person who insulted 
me last night." . . . 

Now, Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when he heard his ad- 
versary call out for a cessation of hostilities ; and perceiving, by what he had after- 
wards said, that there was. beyond all question, some mistake in the matter- he at 
once foresaw the increase of reputation he should inevitably acquire by conceal- 
ing the real motive for his coming out : he therefore stepped boldly forward, and 
said, — ^ 

" I am not the person. I know it." 

" Then, that," said the man with the camp-stool, " is an affront to Doctor 
Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately." 

" Pray, be quiet, Payne I " said the doctor's second. " Why did you not com- 
tnunicate this fact to me this morning, sir ? " 

" To be sure, to be sure ! " said the man with the camp-stool indignantly. 

" I entreat you to be quiet, Payne," said the other. " May I repeat my ques- 
ticcsir?" 



" Because, sir," replied Mr. Winkle, who had time to deliberate upon hia 
answer, — " because, sir, you described an intoxicated and ungentlemanly per- 
son as wearing a coat which I have the honor, not only to wear, but to have 
invented, — the proposed uniform, sir, of the Pickwick Club in London. The 
honor of that uniform I feel bound to maintain; and I therefore, without in- 
quiry, accepted the challenge which you offered me." 

" My dear sir," said the good-humored little doctor, advancing with extended 
hand, " I honor your gallantry. Permit me to say, sir, that I highly admire 
your conduct, and extremely regret having caused you the inconvenience of 
this meeting, to no purpose." 

" I beg you won't mention it. sir," said Mr. Winkle. 

" I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, sir," said the little doctor. 

" It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, sir," replied Mr. Win- 
kle. Thereupon, the doctor and Mr. Winkle shook hands ; and then Mr. Winkle 
and Lieutenant Tappleton the doctor's second); and then Mr. Winkle and the 
man with the camp-stool ; and, finally, Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass, — the last- 
named gentleman in an excess of admiration at the noble conduct of his heroic 
friend. 

" I think we may adjourn," said Lieutenant Tappleton. 

" Certainly," added the doctor. . . . 

The two seconds adjusted the cases ; and the whole party left the ground in 
a much more lively manner than they had proceeded to it. 

(Ch. ii, iii.) 

Slumkey, The Honorable Samuel. Candidate for parliament 
from the borough of Eatanswill. He is successful in the contest, 
beatinn; his opponent, Horatio Fizkin, Esq. (Ch. xiii.) 

Slurk, Mr. Editor of " The Eatanswill Independent." (Ch. li.) 
See Pott, Mr. 

Snaangle. A fellow-prisoner with Mr. Pickwick in the Fleet. 
(Ch. xli, xlii, xliv.) 

Smart, Tom. Hero of " The Bagman's Story." (Ch. xiv.) See 

JiNKINS, Mr. 

Smauker, John. Footman in the service of Angelo Cyrus Ban- 
tam, Esq. (Ch. XXXV, xxxvii.) 

Smiggers, Joseph. Perpetual Vice-President of the Pickwick 
Club. (Ch. i.) 

Smithers, Miss. A young lady-boarder at Westgate House, 
Bury St. Edmunds. (Ch. xvi.) 

Smithie, Mr. A gentleman present at the charity ball at the 
Bull Inn, Rochester. (Ch. ii.) 

Smithie, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. ii.) 

Smithie, The Misses. His daughters. (Ch. ii.) 

Smorltork, Count. A famous foreigner whom Mr. Pickwick 
meets at Mrs. Leo Hunter's fancy-dress breakfast. (Ch. xv.) 

Smouch, Mr. A sheriff 's assistant, who takes Mr. Pickwick to 
the Fleet Prison. (Ch. xl.) 



76 CClJe ©fcltens Bictionatg. 

Snipe, The Honorable Wilmot. Ensign of the Ninety-sev- 
enth ; one of the company at the ball in Rochester attended by 
Mr. Tupman. (Ch. ii.) 

Snodgrass, Augustus. A poetic member of the Corresponding 
Society of the Pickwick Club. (Ch. i-vi, viii, xi-xv, xviii, xxiv- 
xxvi, xxviii, xxx-xxxii, xxxiv-xxxvi, xliv, xlvii, liv, Ivii.) See 
Pickwick, Samuel. 

Snubbin, Serjeant. Senior counsel for Mr. Pickwick in his suit 
with Mrs. Bardell. (Ch. xxxi, xxxiv.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 

Mr. Seijeant Snubbin was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned man, of 
about five and forty. . . . He had that dull-looking, boiled eye, which is so often 
to be seen in the heads of people who have applied themselves dui-ing many 
years to a weary and laborious course of study, and which would have been suf- 
ficient, without the additional eye-glass which dangled from a broad black rib- 
bon round his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted. His 
hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable to his having never de- 
voted much time to its arrangement, and partly to his having worn for five 
and twenty years the forensic wig which hung on a block beside him. The 
marks of hair-powder on his coat-coUar, and the ill-washed and worse-tied 
white neckerchief round his throat, showed that he had not found leisure since 
he left the court to make any alteration in his dress ; while the slovenly style 
of the remainder of his costume warranted the inference that his personal ap- 
pearance would not have been very much improved if he had. 

Snuphanuph, Lady. A fashionable lady whom Mr. Pickwick 
meets at a party at Bath. (Ch. xxxv, xxxvi.) 

Staple, Mr. A little cricket-player who makes a big speech at 
the dinner which succeeds the match-game at Dingley Dell. (Ch. 
vii.) 

Stareleigh, Mr. Justice. The judge who presides, in the ab- 
sence of the chief justice, at the trial of Bardell vs. Pickwick; 
said to be intended as a caricature of Sir Stephen Gaselee, a jun- 
ior judge of the Court of Common Pleas. (Ch. xxxiv.) See Pick- 
wick, Samuel. 

Stiggins, The Reverend Mr., called The Shepherd. An 

intemperate, canting, and hypocritical parson, who ministers to a 

fanatical flock, composed largely of women, at Emanuel Chapel. 

(Ch. xxvii, xxxiii, xlv, lii.) 

" Tartuffe and Joseph Surface, Stiggins and Chadband, who are always preachingfine 
sentiments, and are no more virtuous than hundreds of those whom they denounce and 
cheat, are fair objects of mistrust and satire ; but their hypocrisy, the homage, accord- 
ing to the old saying, which vice pays to virtue, has this of good in it,— that its fruits are 
good. A man may preach good morals, though he may be himself but a lax practitioner ; 
a Pharisee may put pieces of gold into the charity-plate out of mere hypocrisy and os- 
tentation : but the bad man's gold feeds the widow and the fatherless as well as the good 
man's. The butcher and baker must needs look, not to motives, but to money, in re- 
turn for their wares." — TftacXeray. 



Slje 33fcfetoicfe ^papers. 77 

Struggles, Mr. A cricketer of Dingley Dell. (Ch. vii.) 

Tadger, Brother. A member of the Brick Lane Branch of the 
United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association. (Ch. 
xxxiii.) 

Tappleton, Lieutenant. Doctor Slammer's second. (Ch. ii, 
iii.) See Slammer, Doctor. 

Tomkins, Miss. Principal of a boarding-school for young ladies, 
called Westgate House, at Bury St. Edmunds. (Ch. xvi.) 

Tomlinson, Mrs. Postmistress at Rochester, and one of the com- 
pany at the charity ball at the Bull Inn there. (Ch. ii.) 

Tommy. A waterman. (Ch. ii.) 

Trotter, Job. The confidential servant of Mr. Alfred Jingle, and 
the only man who proves too sharp for Sam Weller. (Ch. xvi, xx, 
xxiii, XXV, xlii, xlv-xlvii, liii, Ivii.) 

Trundle Mr. A young man who marries Isabella Wardle. He is 
repeatedly brought upon the scene'as an actor, but not once as an 
interlocutor. (Ch. iv, vi, viii, xvi, xvii, xix, xxviii, Ivii.) 

Tuckle. A footman at Bath. (Ch. xxxvii.) 

Tupman, Tracy. One of the Corresponding Society of the Pick- 
wick Club; of so susceptible a disposition, that he falls in love 
with every pretty girl he meets. (Ch. i-ix, xi-xv, xviii, xix, xxiv- 
xxvi, xxviii, xxx, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxv, xliv, xlvii, Ivii.) See 
Pickwick, Samuel. 

Upwitch, Richard. A green-grocer ; one of the jurymen in the 
case of Bardell vs. Pickwick. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

Wardle, Mr. (of Manor Farm, Dingley Dell). A friend of Mr 
Pickwick and his companions ; a stout, hearty, honest old gentle- 
man, who is most happy when he is making others so. (Ch. iv, 
vi-xi, xvi-xix, xxviii, xxx, liv, Ivi.) 

Wardle, Miss Emily. One of his daughters. (Ch. iv, vi-xi, 
xxviii, xxx, liv, Ivii.) 

Wardle, Miss Isabella. Another daughter. (Ch. iv, \i-viii, 

xxviii, Ivii.) 
Wardle, Miss Rachael. His sister ; a spinster of doubtful age, 
with a pecuUar dignity in her air, majesty in her eye, and touch- 
me-not-ishness in her walk. The " too susceptible " Mr. Tupman 
falls in love with her, only to be circumvented by the adroit Mr. 
Jingle, who steals her heart away from him, and elopes with her, 
but is pursued, overtaken, and induced to relinquish his prize in 
consideration of a check for a hundred and twenty pounds. (Ch. 
iv, vi-ix.) 



78 SlJj^ Bfcftews Bictfonarg. 

Wardle, Mrs. Mother of Mr. -Wardle and Miss Rachael; very old 
and very deaf. (Ch. vi-ix, xxviii, Ivii.) 

Watty, Mr. A bankrupt client of Mr. Parker, whom he keeps 
pestering about his affairs, although they have not been in chan- 
cery four years. (Ch. xxxi.) 

Weller, Samuel. Mr. Pickwick's valet ; an inimitable compound 
of wit, simplicity, quaint humor, and fidelity, who may be regarded 
as an embodiment of London low life in its most agreeable and 
entertaining form. Master and servant first meet at a public-house, 
whither Mr. Pickwick goes with Mr. Wardle in search of that gen- 
tleman's sister, who has eloped with Mr. Alfred Jingle. Mr. Wel- 
ler first appears on the scene busily employed in brushing a pair of 
boots, and " habited in a coarse striped waistcoat, with black calico 
sleeves and blue glass buttons; drab breeches and leggings. A 
brio-ht red handkerchief was wound in a very loose and unstudied 
style round his neck, and an old white hat was thrown carelessly on 
one side of his head. There were two rows of boots before him ; 
one cleaned, and the other dirty ; and, at every addition he made 
to the clean roAv, he stopped in his work, and contemplated its re- 
sults with evident satisfaction." Sam carries Mr. Jingle's boots to 
him, and, being asked where Doctors' Commons is, at once divines 
that he wants to procure a marriage-license. 

" My father," said Sam in reply to a question, " vos a coachman. A vidower 
he Yos, and fat enough for any thing, — uncommon fat, to be sure ! His missus 
dies, and leaves him four hundred pound. Down he goes to the Commons, to 
see the lawyer and draw the blunt, — wery smart, top-boots on, nosegay in his 
button-hole, broad-brimmed tile, green shawl, — quite the gen'lm'n. Goes 
through the archvay, thinking how he should inwest the money ; up comes the 
touter, touches his hat, — 'License, sir, license?'— 'What 's that?' says my 
father. ' License, sir,' says he. 'Wliat license?' says my father. 'Marriage- 
license,' says the touter. ' Dash my veskit ! ' says my father, ' I never thought 
o' that.' — ' I think you wants one, sir,' says the touter. My father pulls up, and 
thinks a bit. ' No,' says he, ' damme, I 'm too old; b'sides, I 'm a many sizes too 
large,' says he. ' Not a bit on it, sir ! ' says the touter. ' Think not ?' says my 
father. ' I 'm sure not,' says he. ' We married a gen'lm'n twice your size last 
Monday.' — ' Did you, though ? ' says my father. ' To be sure ve did I ' says the 
touter : ' you 're a babby to him. This vay, sir, — this vay ! ' And. sure enough, 
my father walks arter him, like a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little 
back-office vere a feller sat among dirty papers and tin boxes, making believe 
he was busy. ' Pray take a seat vile I makes out the affidavit, sir,' says the 
lawyer. ' Thankee, sir I ' says my father ; and down he sat, and stared vith all 
his eyes, and his mouth vide open, at the names on tlie boxes. ' What 's your 
name, sir ? ' says the lawyer. ' Tony Weller,' says my father. * Parish ? ' says 
the lawyer. ' Belle Savage,' says my father; for he stopped there ven he drove 
up ; and he know 'd nothing about parishes, he did n't. ' And what 's the lady's 



name ? ' says the lawyer. My father was struck all of a heap. ' Bless'd if I know I ' 
says he. ' Not know I ' says the lawyer. ' No more nor you do,' says my father. 
* Can't I put that in arterwards ? ' — ' Impossible I ' s*ys the lawyer. ' Wery well,' 
says my father, after he 'd thought a moment, ' put dov/n Mrs. Clarke.' — ' What 
Clarke?' says the lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink. 'Susan Clarke, Markis 
o' Granby, Dorking,' says my father : ' she '11 have me, if I ask her, I des-say. i 
never said nothing to her; but she'll have me, I know.' The license was made 
out, and she did have him ; and, what 's more, she 's got him now ; and / never had 
any of the four hundred pound, worse luck I Beg your pardon, sir," said Sam 
when he had concluded, " but, vhen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like 
a new barrow vith the vheel greased." 

After this, Mr. Pickwick meets Sam, and, liking his appearance, 
resolves to engage him. He sends for him, therefore, and proposes to 
give him twelve pounds a year, and two suits of clothes, to attend 
upon him, and travel about with him and the other Pickwickians, — 
terms which are highly satisfactory to Sam. 

When Mr. Pickwick goes to consult Mr. Perker in relation to the 
action which Mrs. Bardell has brought against him for breach of 
promise, Sam accompanies him. 

They had walked some distance, — Mr. Pickwick trotting on before plunged in 
profound meditation, and Sam following behind, with a countenance expressive 
of the most enviable and easy defiance of everybody and every thing ; when the 
latter, who was always especially anxious to impart to his master any exclusive 
information he possessed, quickened his pace until he was close at Mr. Pickwick's 
heels, and, pointing up at a house they were passing, said, — 

" Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir." 

" Yes : it seems so," said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Celebrated sassage-factory," said Sam. 

" Is it ? " said Mr. Pickwick. 

" Is it ! " reiterated Sam with some indignation : " I should rayther think it 
was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that 's where the mysterious dis- 
appearar.ce of a 'spectable tradesman took place four years ago." 

" You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam ? " said Mr. Pickwick, looking 
hastily round. 

" No : I don't indeed, sir," replied Mr. Weller. " I wish I did I Far worse than 
that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the inwenter o' that patent 
never-leavin'-off sassage steam-injine as 'ud swaller up a pavin'-stone if you put it 
too near, and grind it into sassages as easy as if it was a tender young babby. 
Wery proud o' that machine he was, as it was nat'ral he should be; and heM 
stand down in the cellar a-lookin' at it wen it was in full play, till he got quite 
melancholy with joy. A wery happy man he 'd ha' been, sir, in the procession o' 
that 'ere ingine and two more lovely hinfants besides, if it had n't been for his 
wife, who was a most ow-dacious wixin. She was always a-foUerin' him about, 
and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he could n't stand it no longer. ' I '11 tell you 
what it is, my dear,' he says one day: 'if you persewere in this here sort of 
amusement,' he says, ' I 'm blessed if I don't go away to 'Merriker ; and that 's all 
about it.' — ' You 're a idle willin,' says she ; ' and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of their 
margin.' Arter wich she keeps on abusin' of him for half an hour, and then runs 
Into the little parlor behind the shop; sets to a-screamin'; says he '11 be the death 



80 ST!)^ Bicfeens 23ictfonars. 

on her; and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours, — one o' them fits wich 
is all screamin' and kickin'. Well, next mornin' the husband was missin'. He 
had n't taken nothin' from the till ; had n't even put on his great-coat : so it 
was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker. Didn't come back next day ; didn't 
come back next week : missis had bills printed, sayin', that, if he 'd come back, he 
should be forgiven every thin' (which was very liberal, seein' that he had n't done 
nothin' at all). All the canals was dragged, and for two months artervards, when- 
ever a body turned up, it was carried right straight off to the sassage-shop. Hows'- 
ever, none on 'em answered : so they gave out that he 'd run avay, and she kept on 
thebis'ness. One Saturday night, a little thin old gen'l'm'n comes into the shop 
in a great passion, and says, ' Are you the missis of this here shop ? ' — ' Yes, I am,' 
says she. 'Well, ma'am,' says he, ' then I've just looked in to say that me and 
my family ain't a-goin' to be choked for nothin' ; and more than that, ma'am,' he 
5ays, ' you'll allow me to observe, that, as you don't use the primest parts of the 
meat in the manafacter of sassages, I think you 'd find beef come nearly as cheap 
as buttons.' — 'As buttons, sir 1' says she. ' Buttons, ma'am,' said the little old 
gentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and showin' twenty or thirty halves o' but- 
tons. ' Nice seasonin' for sassages is trousers' buttons, ma'am I ' — 'They're my 
husband's buttons I ' says the widder, beginnin' to faint. ' What I ' screams the little 
old gen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale. ' I see it all I ' says the widder : ' in a fit of tem- 
porary insanity he rashly converted hisself into sassages 1 ' And so he had, sir," 
said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr. Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, 
'* or else he 'd been draw'd into the ingine ; but, however that might ha' been, the 
little old gen'l'm'n, who had been remarkably partial to sassages allhis life, rushed 
out o' the shop in a wild state, and was never heerd on artervards." 

Sam, in his travels with Mr. Pickwick, falls in with a comely serv- 
ant-girl by the name of Mary, and is smitten with her charms. He 
determines to write her a letter, and, while engaged in the task, is in- 
teiTupted by his father. 

To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting themselves prac- 
tically to the science of penmanship, writing a letter is no very easy task, it being 
always considered necessary in such cases for the writer to recline his head on his 
left arm, so as to place his eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper, and, 
while glancing sideways at the letters he is constructing, to form with his tongue 
imaginary characters to correspond. .These motions, although unquestionably of the 
greatest assistance to original composition, retard, in some degree, the progress of 
the writer; and Sam had unconsciously been a full hour and a half writing words In 
small text, smearing out wrong letters with his little finger, and putting in new 
ones, which required going over very often to render them visible through the 
old blots, when he was roused by the opening of the door and the entrance of his 
parent. 

'' Veil, Sammy," said the father, . . . "wot 's that you 're a-doin' of, — pur- 
suit of knowledge under difficulties ? eh, Sammy ? " 

" I 've done now," said Sam, with slight embarrassment. " I 've been a- 
iv^ritin'." 

" So I see," replied Mr. Weller. " Not to any young 'ooman, I hope, ^mmy." 

" Why, it 's no use a-sayin' it ain't," replied Sam. " It 's a walentine." 

" A what I " exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken by the word. 

"A walentine," replied Sam. 

" Samivel, Samivel," said Mr. Weller in reproachful accents, " I did n't think 



f ou 'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you 've had o' your father's wicious propensi 
ties; arter all I 've said to you upon this here wery subject; arter actiwally seein' 
and bein' in the company o' your own mother-in-law (vich I should ha' thought 
wos a moral lesson as no man could ever ha' forgotten to his dyin'-day), — I did n't 
think you 'd ha' done it, Sammy, I did n't think you 'd ha' done it." These reflec- 
tions were too much for the good old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips, 
and drank off the contents. 

" Wot 's the matter now ? " said Sam. 

" Nev'r mind, Sammy," replied 3Ir. Weller. " It '11 be a wery agonizin' trial to 
me at my time of life; but I 'm pretty tough, that 's vun consolation, as the wery 
old tiirkey remarked ven the farmer said he wos afeered he should be obliged to 
kill L Lm for the London market." 

" Wot '11 be a trial ? " inquired Sam. 

" To see you married, Sammy ; to see you a deluded wictim, and thinkin' in 
your innocence that it 's all wery capital," replied Mr. Weller. " It 's a dreadful 
trial to a father's feelin's — that 'ere, Sammy." 

" Nonsense I " said Sam. " I ain't a-goin' to get married, don't you fret your- 
self about that: I know you 're a judge of these things. Order in your pipe, and 
I '11 read you the letter — there I " 

We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of the pipe, or the consol- 
atory reflection that a fatal disposition to get married ran in the family, and 
could n't be helped, which calmed Mr. Weller's feelings, and caused his grief to 
subside. We should be rather disposed to say that the result was attained by 
combining the two sources of consolation ; for he repeated the second in a low 
tone very frequently, ringing the bell, meanwhile, to order in the first. He then 
divested himself of his upper coat; and lighting the pipe, and placing himself in 
front of the fire with his back towards it, so that he could feel its full heat, and re- 
cline against the mantle-piece at the same time, turned towards Sam, and, with a 
countenance greatly modified by the softening influence of tobacco, requested him 
to " fire away." 

Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections, and began with 
a very theatrical air, — 

" ' Lovely ' " — 

" Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. " A double glass of the inwariable, 
my dear." 

" Very well, sir," replied the girl, who with great quickness appeared, vanished, 
returned, and disappeared. 

" They, seem to know your ways here," observed Sam. 

" Yes," replied his father, '* I 've been here before in my time. Go on, Sammy." 

" ' Lovely creetur,' " repeated Sam. 

" ' Tain't in poetry, is it ? " interposed the father. 

''No, no," replied Sam. 

" Wery glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. " Poetry 's unnat'ral : no man ever 
talked in poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin'-day, or Warren's blackin', or Rowland's 
oil, or some of them low fellows. Never you let yourself down to talk poetry, my 
boy. Begin again, Sammy." 

Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity ; and Sam once more com- 
menced, and read as follows : — 

" * Lovely creetur i feel myself a dammed ' " — 

'* That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth. 

"No, it ain't < dammed,' " observed Sam, holding the letter up to the light; 
" it 'a ' shamed : ' there 's a blot there. ' I feel myself ashamed.' " 



82 ^t>t Bicftens HdictConats. 

»< Wery good," said Mr. Weller. " Go on." 

" * Feol myself ashamed, and completely cir ' — I forget wot this here word 
Is," said Sam, scratching his head with the pen, in vain attempts to remember. 

" Why don't you look at it, then ? " inquired Mr. Weller. 

" So I am a-lookin' at it," replied Sam; " but there 's another blot. Here 'a a *c,* 
and a ' i,' and a ' d.' " 

" Circumwented, p'rhaps," suggested Mr. Weller. 

" No, it ain't that," said Sam, — " circumscribed ; that 's it I " 

" That ain't as good a word as circumwented, Sammy," said Mi". Weller 
gravely. 

" Think not ? " said Sam. 

" Nothin' like it I " replied his father. 

" But don't you think it means more ? " inquired Sam. 

" Veil, p'rhaps it is a more tenderer word," said Mr. Weller after a few mo- 
ments' reflection. Go on, Sammy." 

'•' ' Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin' of you, for 
you are a nice gal, and nothin' but it.' " 

" That 's a wery pretty sentiment," said the elder Mr. Weller, removing his 
pipe to make way for the remark. 

" Yes, I think it is rayther good," observed Sam, highly flattered. 

•' Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin'," said the elder Mr. Weller, " is, that 
there ain't no callin' names in it, — no Wenuses, nor nothin' o' that kind. Wot 's 
the good o' callin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or a angel, Sammy ? " 

" Ah I what, indeed ? " replied Sam. 

" You might jist as veil call her a griflfin, or a unicorn, or a king's arms at 
once, which is wery well known to be a col-lection o' fabulous animals," added Mr. 
Weller. 

" Just as well," replied Sam. 

" Drive on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. 

Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows ; his father continu- 
ing to smoke with a mixed expression of wisdom and complacency which was 
particularly edifying. 

" ^ Afore I see you. I thought all women was alike.' " 

" So they are," observed the elder Mr. Weller parenthetically. 

" ' But now,' " continued Sam, — * " now I find what a reg'lar soft-headed, in- 
kred'lous turnip I must ha' been ; for there ain't nobody like you, though I like you 
better than nothin' at all.' I thought it best to make that rayther strong," said 
Sam, looking up. 

Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed : — 

" * So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my. dear, — as the gen'lem'n in diffli- 
culties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday, — to tell you that the first and only 
time I see you your likeness was took on my hart in much quicker time and bright- 
er colors than ever a likeness was taken by the profeel macheen (wich p'r'aps you 
may have heerd on Mary my dear) altho it does finish a portrait and put the fi-ame 
and glass on complete^with a hook at the end to hang it up by and all in two min- 
utes and a quarter.' " 

" I am afeered that werges on the poetical, Sammy," said Mr. Weller dubi- 
ously. 

" No, it don't," replied Sam, reading on very quickly to avoid contesting the 
point. 

" ' Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think over what I 're 
Baid. My dear Mary I will now conclude.' That 's all," said Sam. 



SEte 33ictttofcfe 3^apec». 83 

"That '3 rayther a sudden pull up ; ain't it, Sammy ?" inquired Mr. Weller. 

"Not a bit on it," said Sam. " She '11 vish there wos more, and that 's the great 
art o' letter-writin'." 

" Well," said Mr. Weller, " there 's somethin' in that; and I wish your mother- 
in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the same gen-teel principle. Ain't 
you a-goin' to sign it ? " 

" That 's the difficulty," said Sam. " I don't know what to sign it." 

" Sign it ' Veller,' " said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name. 

" Won't do," said Sam. " Never sign a walentine with your own name." 

"Sign it 'Pickvick,' then," said Mr. Weller: "it 's a wery good name, and s 
easy one to spell." 

" The wery thing ! " said Sam. " I could end with a werse : what do you think ? " 

'•I don't like it, Sam," rejoined Mr. Weller. "I never know'd a respectable 
coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an affectin' copy o' werses the niglit 
afore he wos hung for a highway robbery ; and he wos only a Cambervell man : so 
even that 's no rule." 

But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had occurred to 
him, so he signed the letter, — 

" Your love-sick 
Pickwick." 

And, having folded it in a very intricate manner, squeezed a down-hill direction 
in one corner,— " To Mary, House-maid, at Mr. Nupkins's Mayors, Ipswich, Suf- 
folk," — and put it into his pocket, wafered, and ready for the general post. 

To the last, Sam remains devotedly attached to his master ; and 
when Mr. Pickwick gives up his rambles, retires from active life and 
settles down at Dulwich, he goes with him, determined to remain sin- 
gle, and to stick by him and make him comfortable, " vages or no 
vages, notice or no notice, board or no board, lodgin' or no lodgin '," 

Sam Weller kept his word, and remained unmarried for two years. The old 
housekeeper dying at the end of that time, Mr. Pickwick promoted Mary to the 
situation, on condition of her marrying Mr. Weller at once, which she did with- 
out a murmur. From the circumstance of two sturdy little boys having been re- 
peatedly seen at the gate of the back-garden, we have reason to suppose that Sam 
has some family. 

(Ch. X, xii, xiii, xv, xvi, xviii-xx, xxii-xxviii, xxx-xxxv, xxxvi- 

xlviii, 1-lii, Iv-lvii.) See Joe (the fat boy), Pickwick (Samuel), 

Weller (Tony). 

" Sam is the most light-hearted hero, perhaps, that has ever bee i put upon canvas. He 
is the very impersonation of easy conscious skill and cleverness. He has never met with 
any thing in his career that he could not give a good account of. Life is all above-board 
with him, straight-forward, jovial, on the surface. . . This hostler from the city, tliis 
groom picked up from the pavement, is, without doubt or controversy, everybody's master 
in the story of which he is the centre. When the whole little community in the book is 
puzzled, Sam's cleverness cuts the knot. It is he who always sees what to do, who keeps 
everybody else in order. He even combines with his role of all-accomplished serving-man 
the other role of jeune premier, and retains his superiority all through the boolt, at once 
In philosophy and practical insight, in love and war." — Blackwood'' s Magazine, vol. CIX 
pp. 678, 679. 



84 2ri)c BCcfeens JBcctfonacg. 

Weller, Tony, Father to Samuel Weller ; one of the old plethor- 
ic, mottled-faced, great-coated, many-waistcoated stage-coachmen 
that flourished in England before the advent of railways. Being a 
widower, and therefore feeling rather lonely at times, he is invei- 
gled by a buxom widow, who keeps a public-house, into marrying 
again. Father and son, who have not seen each other for some 
time, accidentally meet one day at an inn where Sam is staying 
with his master, 'Mr. Pickwick. 

A hoarse voice, like some strange effort of ventriloquism, emerged from 
beneath the capacious shawls which muffled . . . throat and chest, and slowly 
uttered these sounds, — " Wy, Sammy 1 " 

" Who 's that, Sam ?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. 

" Why, I would n't ha' believed it, sir 1 " replied Mr. Weller with astonished 
eyes. " It 's the old 'un." 

" Old one ?" said Mr. Pickwick, — " what old one ?" 

" My father, sir," replied Mr. Weller. " How are you, my ancient ? " And, 
with this beautiful ebullition of filial affection, Mr. Weller made room on the 
seat beside him for the stout man, who advanced, pipe in mouth and pot in 
hand, to greet him. 

" Wy, Sammy I " said the father : '• I han't seen you for two years and bet- 
ter." 

" No more you have, old codger," replied the son. " How 'a mother-in- 
law?" 

" Wy, I '11 tell you what, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, senior, with much solem- 
nity in his manner, " there never was a nicer woman as a widder than that 
>ere second wentur o' mine. A sweet creetur she was, Sammy; and all I can say 
on her noAV is, that, as she was such an uncommon pleasant widder, it 's a great 
pity she ever changed her condition. She don't act as a vife, Sammy." 

'' Don't she, though ?" inquired Mr. Weller, junior. 

The elder Mr. Weller shook liis head, as he replied with a sigh, " I 've done 
it once too often, Sammy, — I 've done it once too often. Take example by your 
father, my boy, and be wery careful o' widders all your life, specially if they 've 
kept a public-house, Sammy." And, having delivered this parental advice with 
great pathos, Mr. Weller, senior, refilled his pipe from a tin box he carried in 
his pocket, and, lighting his fresh pipe from the ashes of the old one, com- 
menced smoking at a great rate. 

Shortly after this, "Mr. W^eller meets his son again, when a more 
extended conversation ensues. 

" That 'ere your governor's luggage, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller, senior, 
of his affectionate son, as he entered the yard of the Bull Inn, Whitechapel, 
with a travelling-bag and a small portmanteau. 

" You might ha' made a worser guess than that, old feller," replied Mr. 
Weller, the younger, setting down his burden in the yard, and sitting himself 
down upon it afterwards. " The governor liis-self '11 be down here presently." 

" He 's a-cabbin' it, I suppose ?" said the father. 

" Yes, he 's a-havin' two mile o' danger at eightpence," responded the son. 
" How 's raother-in-lavi'- this mornin' ?" 

*' Queer, Sammy, queer," replied the elder Mr. Weller with impressive grav 




OLD WELLER AND THE COACHMEN. 



a:|)e 33fclttDiclt papers. 85 

Ity. " She 's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical order lately, Sammy; 
and she 's uncommonly pious, to be sure. She 's too good a creetur for me, 
Sammy : I feel I don't deserve her." 

" Ah I " said Mr. Samuel : " that 's wery self-denyin' o' you." 

" Wery," replied his parent with a sigh. " She 's got hold o' some invention 
for grown-up people being born again, Sammy, — the new birth, I thinks they 
calls it. I should wery much like to see that system in haction, Sammy. I 
should wery much like to see your mother-in-law born again. Wouldn't I put 
her out to nurse ! 

" What do you think them women does t'other day," continued Mr. Waller, 
after a short pause, during which he had significantly struck the side of his 
nose with his forefinger some half-dozen times, — " what do you think they does 
t'other day, Sammy?" 

" Don't know," replied Sam : " what ? " 

" Goes and gets up a grand tea-drinkin' for a feller they calls their shep- 
herd," said Mr. Weller. " I was a-standing starin' in at the pictur-shop down at 
our place, when I sees a little bill about it : ' Tickets half a crown. All applica- 
tions to be made to the committee. Secretary, Mrs. Weller.' And when I got 
home, there was the committee a-sittin' in our back-parlor, — fourteen women. 
I wish you could ha' heard 'em, Sammy I There they was, a-passin' resolutions, 
and wotin' supplies, and all sorts o' games. Well, what with your mother-in- 
law a-worrying me to go, and what with my looking for'ard to seein' some 
queer starts if I did, I put my name down for a ticket. At six o'clock on the 
Friday evenin' I dresses myself out wery smart, and off I goes vith the old 
'ooman; and up we walks into a fust floor where there was tea-things for thirty, 
and a whole lot o' women as begins whisperin' to one another, and lookin' at 
me as if they 'd never seen rayther a stout gen'lm'n of eight and fifty afore. 
By and by, there comes a great bustle down stairs ; and a lanky chap with a red 
nose and white neckcloth rushes up, and sings out, ' Here 's the shepherd a 
coming to wisit his faithful flock I ' and in comes a fat chap in black, vith a great 
white face, a-smiliu' avay like clock-work. Such goin's-on, Sammy I 'The kiss 
of peace,' says the shepherd; and then he kissed the women all round, and, ven 
he 'd done, the man vith the red nose began. I was just a-thinkin' whether I 
hadn't better begin too, — 'specially as there was a wery nice lady a-sittin' next 
me, — ven in comes the tea, and your mother-in-law, as had been makin' the 
kettle boil down stairs. At it they went, tooth and nail. Such a precious loud 
hymn, Sammy, while the tea was a-brewingi such a grace 1 such eatin' and 
flrinkin' I I wish you could ha' seen the shepherd walkin' into the ham and 
muffins. I never see such a chap to eat and drink — never I The red-nosed 
man warn't by no means the sort of person you *d like to grub by contract ; but 
he was nothin' to the shepherd. Well, arter the tea was over, they sang an- 
other hymn, and then the shepherd began to preach ; and wery well he did it, 
considerin' how heavy them muffins must have lied on his chest. Presently he 
pulls up all of a sudden, and hollers out, ' Where is the sinner ? where is the 
mis'rable sinner?' upon which all the women looked at me, and began to 
groan as if they was dyin'. I thought it was rather sing'lar; but, hows'ever, I 
says nothing. Presently he pulls up again, and, lookin' wery hard at me, says, 
'Where is the sinner? wliere is the mis'rable sinner?' and all the women 
groans again, ten times louder than afore. I got rather wild at this: so I 
takes a step or two for'ard, and says, 'My friend,' says I, 'did you apply that 
'ere obserwation to me?' 'Stead of beggin' my pardon, as any gen'l'm'n would 
•ja' done, he got more abusive than ever, called me a wessel, Sammy, — a wes- 
8 



66 ' 2C|)e 23fcfeens JSictfonarg. 

sel of wrath, — and all sorts o' names. So my blood being reg'larly up, I first 
gave him two or three for himself, and then two or three more to hand over to 
the man with the red nose, and walked off. I wish you could ha' heard how 
the women screamed, Sammy, ven they picked up the shepherd from under the 
table." 

(Ch. XX, xxii, xxiii, xxvii, xxxiii, xxxiv, xliii, xlv, Hi, Iv, Ivi.) 
See Pickwick (Samuel) and Weller (Samuel). 
Weller, Mrs. Susan. His wife, formerly Mrs. Clarke. (Ch. 

xxvii, xlv.) See Weller (Samuel) and Wkller (Tony). 
"Whiflfers. A footman at Bath. (Ch. xxxvii.) 
"Wicks, Mr. Clerk in office of Dodson and Fogg. (Ch. xx.) 
Wilkins. Gardener to Captain Boldwig. (Ch. xix.) 
Winkle, Mr., senior. Father of Nathaniel Winkle ; an old 
wharfinger at Birmingham, and a thorough man of business, having 
the most methodical habits, and never committing himself hastily in 
any affair. He is greatly displeased at his son's marriage to ]\Iiss 
Arabella Allen, but finally forgives him, and admits that the lady 
is " a very charming little daughter-in-law, after all." (Ch. 1, Ivi.) 
Winkle, Nathaniel. A member of the Corresponding Society 
of the Pickwick Club, and a cockney pretender to sporting skill. 
(Ch. i-v, vii, ix, xi-xiii, xv, xviii, xix, xxiv-xxvi, xxviii, xxx- 
xxxii, xxxiv-xxxvi, xxxviii, xxxix, xliv, xlvii, liv, Ivi, Ivii.) 
Witherfield, Miss. A middle-aged lady, affianced to Mr. Mag- 
nus. (Ch. xxii, xxiv.) See Magnus, Peter. 
Wugsby, Mrs. Colonel. A fashionable lady whom Mr. Pick- 
wick meets at Bath. (Ch. xxxv, xxxvi.) 
Zephyr, The. See Mivins, Mr. 



PRMQIPAL INCIDENTS, 



Chapteb I. Meeting of the Pickwick Club ; Mr. Blotton calls Mr. Pickwick a " hum* 
bug" in a " Pickwickian sense." — II. The Pickwickians get into trouble with the coach- 
men at the Golden Cross Inn; they meet Mr. Alfred Jingle; the journey to Rochester; 
after supper at the Bull Inn, Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle attend the ball, Mr. Jiugle 
wearing Mr. Winkle's coat; Mr. Jingle excites the jealousy of Dr. Slammer, who chal- 
lenges Mr. Winkle in consequence ; the duel, which is interrupted by Dr. Slammer discover- 
ing thatMr. Winkleis "not theman." — III. Dismal Jemmy relates "The Stroller's Tale; " 
Dr. Slammer recognizes Mr. Jingle. — IV. The military review at Rochester; meeting with 
Mr. Wardle and his party. — V. The drive to Dingley Dell ; Mr. Winkle, dismounting, is 
unable to remount ; and, Mr. Pickwick going to his assistance, his horse runs away, leaving 
ihe Pickwickians to walk the rest of the way. — VI. The card-party at Mr. Wardle's; the 



SSe ^fcfelDfcfe papers. 87 

clergyman recites " The Ivy Green," and relates " The Co'^.vict's Return. " — VII. Mr. Win- 
kle attemps to shoot the rocks, and wounds Mr. Tupman ; the cricket-match at Muggle- 
ton, and the dinner which followed.— VIII. Mr. Tupman proposes to Miss Rachael, and is 
discovered by the fat boy; Joe, relating the discovery to old Mrs. Wardle, is overheard by 
Mr. Jingle, who determines to supersede Mr. Tupman in the spinster's affections. — IX. 
Finding his arts successful, he elopes with her; Mr. "Wardle and Mr. Pickwick follow, and 
are just on the point of overtaking the fugitives, when their carriage breaks down. — X. 
Sam Weller's first appearance as " boots " at the ^Vl^ite Hart Inn ; his account of his fa- 
ther's marriage ; Mr. "Wardle questions Sam, and finds that Jingle and Miss Rachael are at 
the White Hart ; Mr. Jingle is bought off, and the lady returns with her brother. — XL 
The disappearance of Mr. Tupman, and the journey of Pickwick, Snodgrass, and Winkle 
in search of him ; Mr. Pickwick discovers the stone with the famous antique inscription ; 
the madman's manuscript; the discussion occasioned among the learned societie? by Mr. 
Pickwick's discovery. — XII. Mr. Pickwick, informing Mrs. Bardell of his determination 
to employ a valet, finds himself in an awkward situation, in which he is discovered by his 
friends; Mr. Pickwick engages Sam Weller as his valet. —XIII. Some account of Eatan- 
swill, and the rival factions of the Buffs and Blues ; Mr. Perker explains how an election is 
managed, and introduces the Piclcwickians to Mr. Pott, editor of the Gazette, who invites 
Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle to his house ; Sam Weller relates to his master some tricks of 
the election ; speeches of the rival candidates, and success of the Hon. Samuel Slumkey. — 
XIV. " The Bagman's Story." — XV. Mr. Leo Hunter waits upon Mr. Pickwick, and invites 
him and his friends to a/e<e champetre, to be given by Mrs. Leo Hunter; dispute and recon- 
ciliation of Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman ; the fancy ball at Mrs. Hunter's, and re-appear- 
ance of Alfred Jingle as Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall ; recognizing Mr. Pickwick, he suddenly 
departs, and is followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam to the Angel, at Bury St. Edmunds. — 
XVI. Sam gives Mr. Pickwick some account of his bringing up; Sam discovers Mr. Job 
Trotter, who reveals the plans of Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall for eloping with a young lady 
from the boarding-school ; Mr. Pickwick's adventure in the boarding-school ; he is relieved 
from his unpleasant situation by the appearance of Mr. Wardle and Mr. Trundle. — XVII. 
Mr. Pickwick reads to Mr. Wardle the "Story of the Parish Clerk." — XVIII. Mr. Pott, 
having his jealousy of Mr. Winkle excited by an article in " The Independent," denounces 
that gentleman, whereupon a scene ensues, ending in the departure of Mr. Winkle ; Messrs. 
"Winkle, Snodgrass, and Tupman join Mr. Pickwick at the Angel, at Bury St. Edmunds ; 
Mr. Pickwick receives a letter from Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, informing him of Mrs. 
Bardell's suit for breach of promise. — XIX. Account of the shooting-party and the ex- 
traordinary skill of Messrs. Tupman and Winkle ; Sam Weller explains the mysteries of 
"weal pie; " Sir. Pickwick, having imbibed punch very freely, falls asleep in a wheel- 
barrow, and is left alone while the party continue their sport; he is discovered by Capt. 
Boldwig, who orders him to be wheeled off to the pound, from which he is rescued by Mr. 
Wardle and Sam Weller. —XX. Mr. Pickwick and Sam visit the office of Dodson and Fogg, 
after which they call at a tavern, where Sam unexpectedly encounters his father; from 
him they learn that Jingle and Job Trotter are at Ipswich, and Mr. Pickwick decides to 
seek them there at once ; Mr. Pickwick finds Mr. Lowten at the head of a convivial party 
at the Magpie and Stump, and is invited to join them. — XXI. Jack Bamber relates some 
stories about Gray's Inn, and also " A Tale of a Queer Client." — XXIL Mr. Pickwick, 
going to Ipswich, meets Mr. Peter Magnus, going to the same place, and learns from that 
gentleman his object in visiting that city ; Mr. Pickwick, retiring for the night, leaves his 
watch upon the table, and, returning to seek it, loses his way, and gets into the wrong 
room, which proves to be the chamber of a middle-aged lady. — XXIII. Sam Weller un- 
expectedly encounters Mr. Job Trotter, and begins his return-match. — XXIV. Mr. Magnus 
introduces Mr. Pickwick to his lady, and is astonished at their behavior ; Miss Withcrfield 
waits upon George Nupkins, Esq., and enters a complaint against Mr. Pickwick, in con- 
sequence of which that gentleman and Mr. Tupman are arrested, and, in attempting a 
rescue, Sara Weller and the other Pickwickians share the same fate. — XXV. The trial 
before George Nupkins, Esq., which is brought to an unexpected termination by Mr. Pick- 
wick exposing Mr, Alfred Jingle and his designs; Mr. Weller also exposes Job Trotter; 
the first passage of Mr. Weller's first love. — XXVI. Sam visits Mrs. Bardell, and assists 
"n a conversation which throws some light on the action of Bardell vs. Pickwick.— 



88 Sfje Sfcfeens SSictfonatj. 

XXVTI. Sam goes to Dorking, and makes the acquaintance of his mother-fn-law and the 
Rev. Mr. Stiggins, and also has an interview with Mr. Weller, senior. — XXVIII. The 
Pickwickians and Sara Weller go to Dingley Dell, and attend the wedding of Mr. Trundle 
and Miss Isabella Wardle; Mr. Pickwick speaks at the wedding-breakfast, and dances 
with old Mrs. Wardle in the evening; Mr. Wantle sings a " Christmas Carol." — XXIX. 
Mr. Wardle relates "The Story of the Goblins vho stole a Sexton." — XXX. The Pick- 
wickians make the acquaintance of Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer; Mr. Winkle 
exhibits his skill in the accomplishment of skating; Mr. Pickwick's fall through the ice, 
and rescue; breaking up of the party. — XXXI. Mr. Jackson, of the house of Dodson and 
Fogg, subpoenas the friends and servant of Mr. Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick and Sam go to 
Mr. Perker's, Sam relating on the way the mysterious disappearance of a respectable 
tradesman; Mr. Perker informs Mr. Pickwick that he has retained Serjeant Snubbin ag 
bis advocate, and is amazed at Mr. Pickwick's determination to see that eminent person 
age ; Mr. Pickwick's interview with Serjeant Snubbin, in which they are joined by Mr. 
Phunky. — XXXII. Mr. Bob Sawyer, proposing to give a bachelor party, has some trouble 
with his landlady ; the party, getting noisy, are ordered out by Mrs. Raddle. — XXXIII 
Mr. Sam Weller, going to meet his father at the Blue Boar, has his attention attracted by a 
valentine in a shop-window, and, purchasing paper and pens, he indites a valentine to 
Mary, which Mr. Weller, senior, criticises and approves; Mr. Weller and Sam attend the 
meeting of the Brick Lane Branch of tbe United Grand Junction Ebenezer Total Absti- 
nence Association ; Mr. Stipgins also attends in a state which astonishes the members, and 
causes the dispersion of the meeting. —XXXIV. Commencement of the memorable trial, 
Bardell vs. Pickwick; dramatic effect of Mrs. BardelPs appearance; address of Serjeant 
Buzfuz, followed by the examination of the witnesses, and the important testimony of Sara 
Weller; verdict for the plaintiff. —XXXV. The Pickwickians, going to Bath, make the 
acquaintance of Capt. Dowler, also of Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esq., M.C. ; Sam goes on 
an errand to Queen Square, and meets the resplendent footman ; the ball-night in the 
assembly-room at Bath, where Mr. Pickwick does himself no credit at cards. —XXXVI. 
Mr. Pickwick takes lodgings for himself and friends in the Royal Crescent; he finds the 
" True Legend of Prince Bladud; " Mr. Dowler, sitting up for his wife, who has gone to a 
party, falls asleep ; on her return in a sedan-chair, Mr. Winkle is the first person aroused, 
and he proceeds, in dressing-gown and slippers, to open the door, when it is blown to be- 
hind him, and he rushes into the sedan-chair; exciting chase of Mr. Winkle by Mr. Dowler. 
— XXXVII. Sam Weller receives an invitation to a " friendly swarry " by the Bath footmen, 
which he attends under the patronage of Mr. John Smauker; Mr. Pickwick relates to Sam 
the story of Mr. Winkle's flight, and commissions him to find and bring him back. — 
XXXVIII. Mr. Winkle, having fled to Bristol, unexpectedly finds himself in the presence 
of Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen ; Mr. Allen explains to Mr. Winkle his intentions in 
regard to his sister Arabella ; Mr. Winkle, returning to his hotel, is greatly astonished to 
find Mr. Dowler; mutual explanation and reconciliation. — XXXIX. Sam Weller appears, 
and undertakes to find Miss Arabella Allen; his unexpected meeting with the pretty 
housemaid, through whom he finds and has an interview with Miss Allen; Mr. Pickwick 
arranges and assists at a meeting between Mr. Winkle and Miss Arabella, and casts new 
light on the studies of a scientific gentleman. — XL. Mr. Pickwick is arrested ; Mr. Perker 
visits him, but is unable to induce him to pay the damages adjudged, and Mr. Pickwick Is 
carried to the Fleet. — XLI. Sam relates the story of the chancery prisoner ; Mr. Pick- 
wick makes the acquaintance of Messrs. Mivins and Smangle. — XLII. Mr. Smangle's 
attempt to get possession of Mr. Pickwick's linen is frustrated by Sam Weller; Mr. Pick- 
wick is " chummed " upon No. 27 in the third, and takes possession of his quarters, but 
finding his presence disagreeable to his chums, and learning that he can live elsewhere, 
he hires a room in the coffee-house flight; he visits the poor side of the prison, and en- 
counters Mr. Alfred Jingle and Mr. Job Trotter; Mr. Pickwick dismisses Sam.— XLIII. 
Sam arranges with his father a little plan, by which he gets himself an-ested and sent to 
the Fleet as a prisoner, in which character he astonishes Mr. Pickwick. — XLIV. Sam 
relates to his master the story of the man "as killed hisself on principle;" he makes 
the acquaintance of his chum, the cobbler; Mr. Pickwick is visited by Messrs. Tupman, 
Snodgrass, and Winkle ; death of the chancery prisoner. — XLV. Sam Weller is visited by 
bis father, his motiier-ia-Iaw, and the shepherd ; he is ovenvhelmed with astonishment at 



encountering Mr. Job Trotter; Mr. Trotter introduces Mr. Tickwick and Sam to a " whis- 
tling-sliop." — XLVI. Mrs. Bardell is visited by some friends, Avith wliom and herlodgci 
she goes to tlie Spaniard Tea Gardens; their tea-party is interrupted by Mr. Jackson, of 
Dodson and Fogg's, by whom Mrs. Bardell is carried to the Fleet, in execution for costs in 
the case of Bardell vs. Pickwick. — XL VII. Mr. Perker, having received notice of this 
from Sam, visits Mr. Pickwick, Mr. and Mrs. Winkle appear, to confess their marriage; 
Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Tupman also arrive; and Mr. Pickwick finally yields to their united 
appeals, and consents to release himself from prison. —XLVIII. Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. 
Ben Allen, discussing the prospects, business and matrimonial, of the former, are visited 
by an aunt of the latter, also by Mr. Pickwick and Sam ; Mr. Pickwick's explanation 
raconciles all parties to the marriage of Miss Allen with Mr. Winkle; Mr. Pickwick again 
meets the one-eyed bagman. — XLIX. He relates "The Story of his Uncle." — L. Mr. 
Pickwick having arranged with Mr. Ben Allen to accompany him to Birmingham, to 
explain matters to the elder Mr. Winkle, is surprised at Mr. Sawyer's determination to g'» 
with them; humorous conduct of that gentleman on the journey; the three visit lilr. 
Winkle, senior ; unfavorable result of the interview. — LI. The party, returning to London, 
stop at the Saracen's Head, Towcester, where they find Mr. Pott ; arrival of Mr. Slurk, 
and desperate encounter of the rival editors. — LII. Sam receives news of the death of his 
mother-m-law, and goes to Dorking to see his father; Mr. Stiggins pays a visit of sym- 
pathy to the widower, by whom he is kicked out of doors, and ducked in the horse-trough. 
— LIII. Mr. Pickwick calls to consult Mr. Perker on Mr. Winkle's affairs, and meets Mr. 
Jingle and Job Trotter, who finally take their leave of him and of the reader ; Mr. Pick- 
wick gives Messrs. Dodson and Fogg his opinion of their character. — LIV. The fat boy 
announces the arrival of his master ; Mr. Wardle astonishes Mr. Pickwick with the story 
of the attachment of Mr. Snodgrass, and Miss Emily Wardle ; Mr. Snodgrass, visiting Mlsg 
Emily, is discovered by the fat boy, who is bribed to keep the secret; Mr. Wardle and his 
party returning earlier than expected, Mr. Snodgrass conceals himself in an inner room, 
from which he is unable to escape ; unaccountable behavior of Joe, which is explained by 
the appearance of Mr. Snodgrass, and his story. —LV. Mr. Weller, advised by Sam, has 
his late wife's will probated, and sells his share in the funds, through the aid of Wilkins 
Flasher, Esq. — LVI. Mr. Weller, senior, consigns his property into the hands of Mr. 
Pickwick ; Mr. Pickwick advises Sam, with his father's consent, to marry, but Sam stoutly 
refuses to leave his master; Mr. Winkle, senior, calls on his daughter-in-law, and becomes 
reconciled to his son's marriage. — LVIII. Mr. Pickwick announces the dissolution of the 
club ; marriage of Snodgrass and Emily Wardle, and subsequent history of the principal 
cbaractera. 



©he ^bocntitrcs of ®Ut)cr ®tDi0t 



The greater part of this tale was originally published during the years 1837 and 
1838, in "Bentley's Magazine," of which Mr. Dickens was at that time the editor. 
It was begun in the second number (for February, 1837), and was illustrated by 
George Cruikshank. On its completion, it was issued in three volumes, by Mr. 
Bentley. 

In " Oliver Twist " Dickens assailed the abuses of the poor-law and workhouse 
system. Of his more general object in writing the work, he has himself given 
this account : — 

" I have yet to learn that a lesson of the purest good may not be drawn from the 
vilest eva. I have always believed this to be a recognized and established truth, laid down 
by the greatest men the world has ever seen, constantly acted upon by the greatest and 
wisest natures, and confirmed by the reason and experience of every thinking mind. I saw 
no reason, when I wrote this book, why the dregs of life, so long as their speech did not 
offend the ear, should not serve the purpose of a moral, at least as well as its froth and 
cream. Nor did I doubt that there lay festering in Saint Giles's as good materials towards 
the truth as any to be found in Saint James's. 

" In this spirit, when I wished to show in little Oliver the principle of good surviving 
through every adverse circumstance, and triumphing at last; and when I considered 
among what companions I could try him best, having regard to that kind of men into whose 
hands he would most naturally fall,— I bethought myself of those who figure in these vol- 
umes. When I came to discuss the subject more maturely with myself, I saw many strong 
reasons for pursuing the course to which I was inclined. I had read of thieves by so ores, — 
seductive fellows (amiable for the most part), faultless in dress, plump in pocket, choice 
in horse-fiesh, bold in bearmg, fortunate in gallantry, great at a song, a bottle, pack of 
cards, or dice-box, and fit companions for the bravest; but I had never met (except in 
Hogarth) with the miserable reality. It appeared tome that to draw a knot of such as- 
sociates in crime as really do exist; to paint them in all their deformity, in all their 
wretchedness, in all the squalid poverty of their lives ; to show them as they really are, 
for ever skulking uneasily through the dirtiest paths of life, with the great, black, ghast- 
\y gallows closing up their prospect, turn them where they may, —it appeared to me that 
to do this would be to attempt a something which was greatly needed, and which would 
be a service to society. And therefore I did it as I best could." See page 543. 
90 



©Uber Stofst. 91 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 

Anny. A pauper. (Ch. xxiv, li.) 

Artful Dodger, The. See Dawkins, John. 

Barney, A villanous young Jew, with a elironic catan-h, employed 

at The Three Cripples Inn, Little Saffron Hill. (Ch. xv, xxii, 

xlii, xlv.) 

Bates, Charley. A thief; one of Fagin's " apprentices." (Ch. 

ix, X, xii, xiii, xvi, xviii, xxv.) See Dawkins, John. 
Bayton. One of the poor of the parish. (Ch. v.) 
Becky. Bar-maid at the Red Lion Inn. 
Bedwin, Mrs. Mr. Brownlow's housekeeper. (Ch. xii, xiv, xvii, 

xli, li.) 

Bet, or Betsy. A thief in Fagin's service, and a companion of 

Nancy. (Ch. ix, xiii, xvi, xviii.) See Sikes, Bill. 
Bill. A grave-digger. (Ch. v.) 
Blathers and Duff. Bow-street officers. (Ch. xxxi.) 
Bolter, Morris. See Claypole, Noah. 
Brittles. A servant at Mrs. Maylie's. (Ch. xxviii, xxx, xxxi, 

liii.) See Giles, Mr. 
Brownlow, Mr. A benevolent old gentleman, who takes Oliver 

into his house, and treats him kindly. (Ch. x-xii, xvi, xli, xlvi, xlix, 

li-liii.) See Fang (Mr.), Fagin, Monks. 
Bull's-eye. Bill Sikes 's dog. (Ch. xiii, xv, xvi, xix, xxxix, xlviii, 

1.) See Sikes, Bill. 
Bumble, Mr. A beadle puffed up with the insolence of office. 

He visits the branch workhouse where Oliver Twist is " farmed," 

and is received with great attention by Mrs. Mann, the matron. 

Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlor with a brick floor, placed 
a seat for him, and officiously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the table be- 
fore him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his forehead the perspiration which his walk 
had engendered, glanced complacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he 
smiled. Beadles are but men; and Mr. Bumble smiled. 

" Now, don't you be ofTended at what I 'm a-going to say," observed Mrs. 
Mann with captivating sweetness. '' You 've had a long walk, you know, or I 
would n't mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of something, Mr. Bum- 
ble ? " 

" Not a drop, not a drop," said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in a 
dignified but still placid manner. 

"I think you will," said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the refusal 
and the gesture that had accompanied it,— "just a leetle drop, with a little cold 
water, and a lump of sugar." 



92 2C]^c Bicfeens JBictfonats. 

Mr. Bumble coughed. 

" Xow. just a little drop," said 3Irs. Mann persuasively. 

'' What is it ? " inquired the beadle. 

'' "Why, it 's what I 'm obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put in the 
blessed infants' daffy when they ain't well, Mr. Bumble," replied Mrs. Mann 
as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a bottle and glass. ^' It 's gin." 

"Do you give the children daffy, 'Mrs. Mann?" inquired Bumble, following 
with his eyes the interesting process of mixing. 

"Ah, bless 'era! that I do, dear as it is," replied the nurse. "I could n't see 
'em suffier before my eyes, you know, sir." 

"No," said Mr. Bumble approvingly; "no, you could not. You are a hu- 
mane woman, Mrs. Mann." (Here she set down the glass.) "I shall take an 
early opportunity of mentioning it to the Board, Mrs. Mann." (He drew it 
towards him.) " You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann." (He stirred the gin and 
water.) "I — I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann;" and he 
swallowed half of it. 

"And now about business," said the beadle, taking out a leathern pocket- 
book. " The child that was half-baptized, Oliver Twist, is eight years old to- 
day." 

" Bless him I " interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of 
her apron. 

"And notwithstanding an oflTered reward of ten pound, which was after- 
wards increased to twenty pound; notwithstanding the most superlative, and, 
I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish," said Bumble, 
"we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what is his mother's 
settlement, name, or condition." 

Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment, but added, after a moment's 
reflection, " How comes he to have any name at all, then ? " 

The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, " I inwented it." 

" You, Mr. Bumble ? " 

"I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlin's in alphabetical order. The last 
was a S, — Swubble: I named him. This was a T, — Twist: I named hiin. 
The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names 
ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when 
we come to Z." 

" Why, you 're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann. 

" Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; "per- 
haps I may be, perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann." He finished the gin and wa- 
ter, and added, "Oliver being now too old to remain here, the Board have 
determined to have him back into the house; and I have come out myself to 
take him there : so let me see him at once." 

Mrs. Corney being matron of the workhouse, and the death of Mr. 
Slout, the master of the establishment, being daily expected, Mr. Bum- 
ble, who stands next in the order of succession, thinks it might be a 
good opportunity for " a joining of hearts and housekeepings." WiA 
this idea in his mind, he pays the lady a visit, and, while she is out of 
the room for a few moments, counts the spoons, weighs the sugar-tongs, 
closely inspects the silver milk-pot, takes a mental inventory of the 
furniture, and makes himself acquainted with the contents of a chest 



®Ub?r StoCst. 93 

of drawers. Upon her return, after some billing and cooing, she 
says " the one little, little, little word " he begs to hear, and bash- 
fully consents to become Mrs, Bumble as soon as ever he pleases. 
But the course of JVIr. Bumble's love does not run smooth after 
marriage ; for his wife turns out to be a thorough shrew. When the 
first tiff" occurs, Mrs. Bumble bursts into tears, but they do not serve 
to soften the heart of Mr. Bumble ; for he smilingly bids her keep 
on. " It opens the lungs," he tells her, " washes the countenance, 
exercises the eyes, and softens the temper : so cry away." When, 
however, she changes her tactics, boldly flies at him, and gives him 
a sound and well-merited drubbing, he yields incontinently, and 
indulges in sad and solitary reflections. " I sold myself," he says, 
" for six tea-spoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a milk-pot, with a 
small quantity of second-hand furniter, and twenty pound in money. 
I went very reasonable, cheap, — dirt cheap." 

This precious pair are afterwards guilty, — first, of selling certain 
articles which were left in the workhouse by the mother of Oliver 
Twist, and which are necessary to his identification ; and, secondly, 
of witnessing what they suppose to be the destruction of these 
articles. Brought before Mr. Brownlow, they are confronted with 
proofs and witnesses of their rascality ; but Bumble excuses himself 
by saying, " It was all Mrs. Bumble. She would do it." 

" That is no excuse," replied Mr. Brownlow. '* You were present on the oc- 
casion of the destruction of these trinkets, and, indeed, are the more guilty of 
the twOj in the eye of the law ; for the law supposes that your wife acts under 
your direction." 

" If the law supposes that," said Mr. Bumble, squeezing his hat emphatically 
in both hands, " the law is a ass, a idiot. If that 's the eye of the law, the law 's 
, a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is, that his eye may be opened by ex- 
perience, — by experience." 

Notwithstanding this disclaimer of any personal responsibility 

in the matter, Mr. Bumble loses his situation, and retires with his 

wife to private life. (Ch. i, iii-v, vii, xvii, xxiii, xxxvii, xxxviii, li.) 

See Dtck (Little), Twist (Oliver). 
Charlotte. Servant to Mrs. Sowerberry; afterwards married to 

Noah Claypole. (Ch. iv-vi, xxvii, xlii, liii.) 
Chitling, Tom. An " apprentice " of Fagin's ; a " half-witted 

dupe," who makes a rather unsuccessful thief (Ch. xviii, xxv, 

xxxix, 1.) 
Clasrpole, Noah, A chuckle-headed charity-boy, apprenticed 

to Mr. Sowerberry the undertaker. He afterwards goes to Lon- 



94 51)0 ©fcfeens JBictionuv^. 

don, and becomes a thief. (Ch. v, vi, xxvii, xlii, xliii, xlv- 
xlvii, liii.) 
Corney, Mrs. Matron of a workhouse ; afterwards married to Mr. 
Bumble. (Ch. xxiii, xxiv, xxvii, xxxvii, xxxviii, li.) See Bum- 
ble, Mr. 
Crackit, Toby. A housebreaker. (Ch. xxiii, xxv, xxviii, xxxix, 1.) 
Dawkins, John, called the Artful Dodger. A young pick- 
pocket in the service of Fagin the Jew. When Oliver Twist runs 
away from his master, and sets out for London, he meets the Art- 
ful Dodger on the road, who gives him something to eat, and after- 
wards takes him to Fagin's den. 

*' Don't fret your eyelids "... said the young gentleman. " I 've got to be 
in London to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman as lives there, 
wot '11 give you lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the change; that is, 
if any genelman he knows interduces you. And don't he know me ? Oh, no I 
Not in the least I By no means I Certainly not 1 " 

Although the Dodger is an adept in thieving and knavery, he is 
detected at last in attempting to pick a gentleman's pocket, and is 
sentenced to transportation for life. While in court, he maintains 
his accustomed coolness, impudently chaffs the police-officers, asking 
the jailer to communicate " the names of them two files as was on 
the bench," and generally " doing full justice to his bringing-up, 
and establishing for himself a glorious reputation." When brought 
into court, he requests to know what he is " placed in that 'ere dis- 
graceful sitivation for." 

" Hold your tongue ; will you ?" said the jailer. 

"I'm an Englishman, ain't I ? " rejoined the Dodger. "Where are my 
privileges ? " 

" You '11 get your privileges soon enough," retorted the jailer, " and pepper 
with 'em." 

" We '11 see wot the Secretary of State for the Home Affairs has got to say 
to the beaks, if I don't," replied Mr. Dawkins. " Now, then, wot is this hero 
business ? I shall thank the madg'strates to dispose of this here little affair, 
and not to keep me while they read the paper; for I 've got an appointment 
with a gentleman in the city : and as I 'm a man of my word, and wery punctual 
in business-matters, he '11 go away if I ain't there to my time, and then, p'r'aps, 
there won't be an action for damage against those as kept me away. Oh, no I 
certainly not ! " 

The evidence against him is direct and conclusive ; but the Dodg- 
er continues unabashed ; and, when the magistrate asks him if he 
has any thing to say, he affects not to hear the question. 

" Do you hear his worship ask you if you 've any thing to say ? " inquired the 
jailer, nudging the silent Dodger with his elbow. 




THE ARTFUL DODGER AND CHARLEY BATES. 



I 



©liber ffitoist. 95 

" I beg your pardon," said the Dodger, looking up with an air of abstraction. 
" Did you redress yourself to me, my man ? " 

" I never see such an out-and-out young wagabond, your worship," observed 
the officer with a grin. " Do you mean to say any thing, you young shaver ?'' 

" No," replied the Dodger, *' not here; for this ain't the shop for justice; 
besides which, my attorney is a-breakfasting this morning with the wice-presi- 
dent of the house of commons. But I shall have something to say elsewhere, 
and so will he, and so will a wery numerous and 'spectable circle of acquaint- 
ance, as '11 make them beaks wish they 'd never been born, or that they 'd 
got their footmen to hang 'em up to their own hat-pegs afore they let 'em come 
out this morning to try it on upon me. I '11 " — 

" There I he 's fully committed," interposed the clerk. " Take him away." 

" Come on," said the jailer. 

" Oh, ah ! I '11 come on," replied the Dodger, brushing his hat with the palm 
of his hand. "Ah "(to the bench) " it 's no use your looking frightened: I 
won't show you no mercy, — not a ha'porth of it. You 'II pay for this, my fine 
fellers. I wouldn't be you for something! I wouldn't go free, now, if you 
was to fall down on your knees and ask me. Here, carry me off to prison ! 
Take me away ! " 

With these last words the Dodger suffered himself to be led off by the col- 
lai», threatening, till he got into the yard, to make a parliamentary business of 
it, and then grinning in the officer's face with great glee and self-approval. 

(Ch. viii-x, xii, xiii, xvi, xviii, xix, xxv, xxxix, xliii.) 

Dick, Little. Companion of Oliver Twist at a branch workhouse 
where infant paupers are tended with parochial care. (Ch. vii, 
xvii.) 

Dodger, The Artful. See Dawkins, John. 

Duff. A Bow-street officer. See Blathers and Duff. 

Pagin. A crafty old Jew, a receiver of stolen goods, with a num- 
ber of confederates of both sexes. He also employs several boys 
(styled " apprentices ") to carry on a systematic trade of pilfering. 
After a long career of villany, he is sentenced to death for compli- 
city in a murder. Having been taken to prison, he is placed in 
one of the " condemned cells," and left there alone. 

He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which served for seat and 
bedstead, and, casting his bloodshot eyes upon the ground, tried to collect his 
thoughts. After a whUe, he began to remember a few disjointed fragments of 
what the judge had said, though it had seemed to him at the time that he could 
not hear a word. These graduallyfell into their proper places, and, by degrees, 
suggested more; so that in a little time he had the whole almost as it was deliv- 
ered. To be hanged by the neck till he was dead : that was the end, — to be 
hanged by the neck till he was dead. 

As it came on very dark, he began to think of all the men he had known who 
had died upon the scaffold, — some of them through his means. They rose up 
in such quick succession, that he could hardly count them. He had seen some 
of them die, and joked, too, because they died with prayers upon their lips. 
With what a rattling noise the drop went down I and how suddenly they 
changed from strong and vigorous men to dangling heaps of clothes 1 



96 8C!)e Bicfeens ©ictionatj. 

Some of them might have inhabited that very cell, — sat upon that very spot. 
It was very dark : why did n't they bring a light ? The cell had been built for 
many years. Scores of men must have passed their last hours there. It was like 
sitting in a vault strewn with dead bodies, — the cap, the noose, the pinioned 
arms, the faces that he knew even beneath that hideous veil. — Light, light I 

At length, when his hands were raw with beating against the heavy door and 
walls, two men appeared, — one bearing a candle, which he thrust into an iron 
candlestick fixed against the wall, and the other dragging in a mattress on 
which to pass the night; for the prisoner was to be left alone no more. 

Then came night, — dark, dismal, silent night. Other wretches are glad to 
hear tlie church-clocks strike ; for they tell of life and coming day : to the Jew 
they brought despair. The boom of every iron bell came laden with the one 
deep, hollow sound, — death. "What availed the noise and bustle of cheerful 
morning; which penetrated even there, to him ? It was another form of knell, 
with mockery added to the warning. 

The day passed off. Day I — there was no day: it was gone as soon as come; 
and night came on again, — night so long, and yet so short ; long in its dreadful 
silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At one time he raved and blasphemed ; and 
at another howled, and tore his hair. Venerable men of his own persuasion had 
come to pray beside him ; but he had driven them away with curses. They renewed 
their charitable efforts, and he beat them off. ». 

Saturday night. He had only one night more to live; and, as he thought of this, 
the day broke, — Sunday. 

It was not until the night of this last awful day, that a witliering sense of his 
helpless, desperate state came in its full intensity upon his blighted soul; not that 
he had ever held any defined or positive hope of mercy, but that he had never been 
able to consider more than the dim probability of dying so soon. He had spoken 
little to either of the two men who relieved each other in their attendance upon 
him; and they, for their parts, made no effort to rouse his attention. He had sat 
there, awake, but dreaming. Now he started up every minute, and, with gasping 
mouth and burning skin, hurried to and fro, in such a paroxysm of fear and wrath, 
that even they — used to such sights — recoiled from him with horror. He grew so 
terrible, at last, in all the tortures of his evil conscience, that one man could not 
bear to sit there eying him alone ; and so the two kept watch together. 

He cowered down upon his stone bed, and thought of the past. He had been 
wounded with some ntissiles from the crowd on the day of his capture, and his 
head was bandaged with a linen cloth. His red hair hung down upon his bloodless 
face ; his beard was torn, and twisted into knots ; his eyes shone with a terrible 
light; his unwashed flesh crackled with the fever that burnt him up. Eight — nine 
— ten. If it was not a trick to frighten him, and those were the real hours treading 
on each other's heels, where would he be when they came round again ! Eleven I 
Another struck before the voice of the previous hour had ceased to vibrate. At 
eight he would be the only mourner in his own funeral-train ; at eleven — 

Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hidden so much misery and such 
unspeakable anguish, not only from the eyes, but, too often and too long, from the 
thoughts, of men, never held so dread a spectacle as that. The few who lingered 
as they passed, and wondered what the man was doing who was to be hung to-mor- 
row, would have slept but ill that night if they could have seen him. 

Late at night, Mr. Brownlow appears with Oliver Twist at the 
wicket of the prison, and, presenting an order from one of the sheriffs, 
is immediately admitted, and conducted to Fagin's cell 



©liber ^Ttofst 97 

The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rocking himself from side to 
side, with a countenance more like that of a snared beast than the face of a man. 
His mind was evidently wandering to his old life ; for he continued to mutter, 
without appearing conscious of their presence otherwise than as a part of hi? 
vision. 

"Good hoy, Charley, — well done I" he mumbled. "Oliver too, ha, ha, ha 
Oliver too, — quite the gentleman now, quite the — Take that boy away to bed I " 

The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver, and, whispering him not to be 
alarmed, looked on without speaking. 

" Take him away to bed I " cried the Jew. " Do j^ou hear me, some of you ? 
He has been the— the — somehow the cause of all this. It 's worth the money to 
bring him up to it. Bolter's throat, Bill, — never mind the girl, — Bolter's throat, 
as deep as you can cut. Saw his head ofif I " 

" Fagin," said the jailer. 

" That 's me I " cried the Jew, falling instantly into the attitude of listening he 
had assumed upon his trial. " An old man, my lord, — a very old, old man I " 

'' Here," said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep him down, — 
"here 's somebody wants to see you, to ask you some questions, I suppose. Fa- 
gin, Fagin I Are you a man ? " 

" I shan't be one long," replied the Jew, looking up with a face retaining no 
human expression but rage and terror. " Strike them all dead I What right have 
they to butcher me ? " 

As he spoke, he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. Shrinking to the 
farthest corner of the seat, he demanded to know what they wanted there. 

" Steady," said the turnkey, still holding him down. " Now, sir, tell him what 
you want, — quick, if you please; for he grows worse as the time gets on." 

" You have some papers," said Mr. Brownlow, advancing, " which were placed in 
your hands, for better security, by a man called Monks." 

" It 's all a lie together," replied the Jew. " I have n't one, — not one." 

" For the love of God," said Mr. Brownlow solemnly, " do not say that now, 
upon the very verge of death, but tell me where they are. You know that Sikes 
is dead; that Monks has confessed; that there is no hope of any further gain. 
Where are those papers ? " 

" Oliver," cried the Jew, beckoning to him. " Here, here ! Let me whisper to 
you." 

" I am not afraid," said Oliver in a loud voice, as he relinquished Mr. Brown- 
low's hand. 

" The papers," said the Jew, drawing him toward him, " are in a canvas bag, in 
a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front-room. I want to talk to you, 
my dear, — I want to talk to you." 

" Yes, yes," returned Oliver. " Let me say a prayer. Do I Say only one, upon 
your knees, with me, and we will talk till morning." 

" Outside, outside," replied the Jew, pushing the boy before him toward the 
door, and looking vacantly over his head. " Say I 've gone to sleep : they '11 believe 
you. You can get me out, if you take me so. Now then, now then I " 

"O God, forgive this wretched man I " cried the boy with a burst of tears. 

" That 's right, that 's right," said the Jew. " That '11 help us on. This door 
first. If I shake and tremble as we pass the gallows, don't you mind, but hmry 
on. Now, now, now I " 

" Have you nothing else to ask nim, sir?" inquired the turnkey. 

" No other question," replied Mr. Brownlow. " If I hoped we could recall him 
to a sense of his position "— 
8 



98 2ri)e Bfcfeens IBUUonav^, 

" Nothing will do that, sir," replied the man, shaking his head. " Ton had 
better leave him." 

The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned. 

" Press on, press on I " cried the Jew. " Softly, but not so slow. Faster, 
faster I " 

The men laid hands upon him, and, disengaging Oliver from his grasp, held 
him back. He struggled with the power of desperation, for an instant ; and 
then sent up cry upon cry that penetrated even those massive walls, and rang in 
their ears until they reached the open yard. 

It was some time before they left the prison. Oliver nearly swooned after 
this frightful scene, and was so weak, that, for an hour or more, he had not the 
strength to walk. 

Day was dawning when they again emerged. A great multitude had already 
assembled; the windows were filled with people, smoking, and playing cards, to 
beguile the time ; the crowd were pushing, quarrelling, and joking. Everything 
told of life and animation, but one dark cluster of objects in the very centre of all, 
— the black stage, the cross-beam, the rope, and all the hideous apparatus of 
death. 

(Ch. viii, ix, xii, xiii, xv, xvi, xix, xx, xxv, xxvi, xxxiv, xxxix, 
xlii-xlv, xlvii, lii.) See Sikes, Bill. 

pang, Mr. A violent and overbearing police-magistrate ; intended 
as a portrait of one A. S. Laing, the senior magistrate of Hatton 
Garden Police Office at tlie time " Oliver Twist " was in course of 
publication, wbo was notorious for his arrogant and brutal treat- 
ment of witnesses, and, indeed, of all persons who came before 
him. So true a likeness was it, that Lord John Russell, the home 
secretary, felt compelled to remove Mr. Justice Laing fi-oni office. 
Oliver Twist, charged with stealing a handkerchief from JMr. 
Brownlow as he stands quietly reading at a book-stall, is brought 
before Mr. Fang for trial ; Mr. Brownlow appearing as witness. 

Mr. Fang was a middle-sized man, with no great quantity of hair, and what 
he had, growing on the back and sides of his head. His face was stern, and 
much flushed. If he were really not in the habit of drinking rather more than 
was exactly good for him, he might have brought an action against his counte- 
nance for libel, and have recovered heavy damages. 

The old gentleman bowed respectfully, and, advancing to the magistrate's 
desk, said, suiting the action to the word, " That is my name and address, sir." 
He then withdrew a pace or two, and, with another polite and gentlemanly 
Inclination of the head, waited to be questioned. 

Now, it so happened that Mr. Fang was at that moment perusing a leading 
article in a newspaper of the morning, adverting to some recent decision of his, 
and commending him, for the three hundred and fiftieth time, to the special 
and particular notice of the secretary of state for the home department. He 
was out of temper, and he looked up with an angry scowl. 

" Who are you ? " said Mr. Fang. 

The old gentleman pointed with some surprise to his card. 

" Officer," said Mr. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously away with the 
newspaper, " who is this fellow ? " 



©Uber Stoist. 99 

" My name, sir," said the old gentleman, speaking like a gentleman, and conse- 
quently in strong contrast to Mr. Fang, — '' my name, sir, is Brownlow. Permit 
me to inquire the name of the magistrate who offers a gratuitous and unprovoked 
insult to a respectable man, under the protection of the bench." Saying this, Mr. 
Brownlow looked round the office as if in search of some person who could afford 
him the required information. 

"Officer," said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on one side, " what 's this fellow 
charged with ? " 

'' He 's not charged at all, your worship," replied the officer. " He appears 
against the boy, your worship." 

His worship knew this perfectly well; but it was a good annoyance, and a safe 
one. 

" Appears against the boy, does he ? " said Fang, surveying Mr. Brownlow con- 
temptuously from head to foot. " Swear him." 

" Before I am sworn, I must beg to say one word," said Mr. Brownlow; " and 
that is, that I never, without actual experience, could have believed " — 

" Hold your tongue, sir I " said Mr. Fang peremptorily. 

" I will not, sir I " replied the spirited old gentleman. 

" Hold your tongue this instant, or I '11 have you turned out of the office I " 
said Mr. Fang. " You 're an insolent, impertinent fellow. How dare you bully 
a magistrate ? " 

" What ? " exclaimed the old gentleman, reddening. 

<' Swear this person I" said Fang to the clerk. "I '11 not hear another word. 
Swear him 1 " 

Mr. Brownlow's indignation was greatly roused ; but, reflecting that he might 
injure the boy by giving vent to it, he suppressed his feelings, and submitted to 
be sworn at once. 

" Now," said Fang, " what 's the charge against this boy ? What have you got 
to say, sir ? " 

" I was standing at a book-stall," Mr. Brownlow began. 

<' Hold your tongue, sir I " said Mr. Fang. '' Policeman ! —Where 's the police- 
man ? Here, swear this man. Now, policeman, what is this ? " 

The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the charge ; 
how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; and how that was 
all he knew about it. 

*' Are there any witnesses ? " inquired Mr. Fang. 

" None, your worship," replied the policeman. 

" Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to the prose- 
cutor, said in a-towering passion, — 

" Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, fellow, or do 
you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing to give evi- 
dence, I '11 punish you for disrespect to the bench : I will, by " — 

By what or by whom nobody knows ; for the clerk and jailer coughed very 
loud just at the right moment, and the former dropped a heavy book on the floor; 
thus preventing the word from being heard, — accidentally, of course. 

With many interruptions and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived to 
state his case; observing, that, in the surprise of the moment, he had run after the 
boy because he saw him running away ; and expressing his hope, that if the magis- 
trate should believe him, although not actually the thief, to be connected with 
thieves, he would deal as leniently with him as justice would allow. 

" He has been hurt already," said the old gentleman in conclusion. " And I 
fear," he added with great energy, looking towards the bar, — " I really fear that 
lie la very ill." 



v^ 



100 2r!)e ©icfeens iSfctfonars. 

*' Oh, yes I I dare say," said Mr. Fang with a sneer. " Come, none of yoiu 
tricks here, you young vagabond : they won't do. What 's your name ? " 

Oliver tried to reply; but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale; and 
the whole place seemed turning round and round. 

" What 's your name, you hardened scoundrel ? " thundered Mr. Fang. " Of- 
ficer, what 's his name ? " 

This was addressed to a bluff old fellow in a striped waistcoat, who was 
standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver, and repeated the inquiry; but find- '*^ 
ing him really incapable of understanding the question, and knowing that his 
not replying would only infuriate the magistrate the more, and add to the 
severity of his sentence, he hazarded a guess. 

" He says his name 's Tom White, your worship," said this kind-hearted 
thief-laker. 

" How do you propose to deal with the case, sir?" inquired the clerk in a 
low voice. 

" Summarily," replied Mr. Fang. " He stands committed for three months, 
— hard labor, of course. Clear the oflBce." 

The keeper of the book-stall, however, who saw the affair, and 
knows that Oliver is not guilty, just at this moment hastily enters 
the room, demands to be heard, and testifies that it was not Oliver, 
but his companion (the "Artful Dodger "), who picked IMr. Brown- 
low's pocket ; and that Oliver, apparently much terrified and aston- 
ished by the proceeding, ran off, was piu'sued, knocked down, 
arrested, and taken away by a police-ofiicer. This evidence, though 
unwillingly received by the magistrate, acquits the boy, who is com- 
passionately taken by Mr. Brownlow to his own house, where he is 
laid up with fever, and is carefully nursed till he recovers. (Ch. xi.) 

Fleming, Agnes. Mother of Oliver Twist. (Ch. i, liii.) 

Fleming, Rose. See Maylie, Rose. 

Gamfield. A chimney-sweep. (Ch. iii.) 

Giles, Mr, IVlrs. Maylie's butler and steward. Two burglars, Sikes 
and Crackit, attempt to break into Mrs. Maylie's house, one night, 
but, being alarmed, retreat in haste, and are followed in a most val- 
iant manner by Giles and his fellow-servants. When a short dis- 
tance from the house, however, they stop very suddenly, under in- 
structions from Giles. 

" My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my orders, is," said the fattest man 
of the party, " that we 'mediately go home again." 

"I am agreeable to any thing which is agreeable to Mr. Giles," said a shorter 
man, who was by no means of a slim figure, and who was very pale in the face, 
and very polite, as frightened men frequently are. 

'' I should n't wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen," said the third, who 
had called the dogs back. *' Mr. Giles ought to know," 

* Certainly," replied the shorter man; " and, whatever Mr. Giles says, it isn't 
our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my sitiwation, — thank ray stars, I 
know my sitiwation." To tell the truth, the little man did seem to know hi« 



*0 



©Uber SCtofst. 101 

situation, and to know perfectly well that it was by no means a desirable one*, 
for his teeth chattered in his head as he spoke. 
" You are afraid, Brittles," said Mr. Giles. 
" I ain't," said Brittles. 
V-. " You are," said Giles. 

rs " You 're a falsehood, Mr. Giles," said Brittles. 

" You 're a lie, Brittles," said Mr. Giles. 

rNow, these four retorts arose from Hr. Giles's taunt; and Mr. Giles's taunt 
had arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of going home again 
imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The third man brought 
the dispute to a close most philosophically, 

"I '11 tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he, "we 're all afraid." 
" Speak for yourself, sir," said Mr, Giles, who was the palest of the party. 
^ *' So I do," replied the man. *' It 's natural and proper to be afraid under 

such circumstances : I am." 

" So am I," said Brittles ; " only there 's no call to tell a man he is, so bounce- 
\i ably." 
^^ These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that he was 

^ afraid ; upon which they all three faced about, and ran back again with the com- 
pletest unanimity, till Mr. Giles (who had the shortest wind of the party, and 
was encumbered with a pitchfork) most handsomely insisted upon stopping to 
make an apology for his hastiness of speech. 

"But it 's wonderful," said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, " what a man 
will do when his blood is up. I should have committed murder, I know I 
should, if we 'd caught one of the rascals." 

As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment, and their 
blood, like his, had all gone down again, some speculation ensued upon the cause 
of this sudden change in their temperament. 

" I know what it was," said Mr. Giles : " it was the gate I " 

" I should n't wonder if it was ! " exclaimed Brittles, catching at the idea. 

"You may depend upon it," said Giles, " that that gate stopped the flow of 
the excitement. I felt all mine suddenly going away as I was climbing over it." 

By a remarkable coincidence the other two had been visited with the same 
unpleasant sensation at that precise moment : so that it was quite conclusive 
that it was the gate, especially as there was no doubt regarding the time at which 
the change had taken place, because all three remembered that they had come 
in sight of the robbers at the very instant of its occurrence, 

(Cli, xxviii-xxxi, xxxiv, xxxv, liii.) 

G-rimwig', Mr. An irascible but warm-hearted friend of ISIr. 
Brownlow's, He is thus introduced : — 

At this moment there walked into the room, supporting himself by a thick 
stick, a stout old gentleman, ratlier lame in one leg, who was dressed in a blue 
coat, striped waistcoat, nankeen breeches and gaiters, and a broad-brimmed white 
hat with the sides turned up with green. A very small-plaited shirt-frill stuck 
out from his waistcoat, and a very long steel watch-chain, with nothing but a 
key at the end, dangled loosely below it. The ends of his white neckerchief 
were twisted into a ball about the size of an orange : the variety of shapes into 
which his countenance was twisted defy description. He had a manner of screw- 
ing his head round on one side when he spoke, and looking out of the corners 
of his eyes at the same time, which irresistibly reminded the beholder of a 
9* 



102 STlJe Bfcfeens iSfctfonarj. 

parrot. In this attitude he fixed himself the moment he made his appearance; 
and, holding out a small piece of orange-peel at arm's-length, exclaimed in a 
growling, discontented voice, — 

" Look here I do you see this ? Is n't it a most wonderful and extraordinary 
thing that I can't call at a man's house, but I find a piece of this cursed poor* 
Burgeon's-friend on the staircase ? I 've been lamed with orange-peel once ; and 
I know orange-peel will be my death at last. It will, sir : orange-peel will be 
my death, or I '11 be content to eat my own head, sir I " This was the handsome 
oflfer with which Mr. Grimwig backed and confirmed nearly every assertion 
that he made ; and it was the more singular in his case, because, even admitting, 
for the sake of argument, the possibility of scientific improvements being ever 
brought to that pass which will enable a gentleman to eat his own head, in the 
event of his being so disposed, Mr. Grimwig's head was such a particularly 
large one, that the most sanguine man alive could hardly entertain a hope of 
being able to get through it at a sitting, to put entirely out of the question a 
very thick coating of powder. 

(Ch. xiv, xvii, xli, li, liii.) 

Kags. A returned transport. (Ch. 1.) 

Leeford, Edward. See Monks. 

Limbkins. Chairman of the workhouse Board. (Ch. ii, iii.) See 
Twist, Oliver. 

Lively, Mr. A salesman in Field Lane, and a dealer in stolen 
goods. (Ch. xxvi.) 

Losberne, Mr., called " The Doctor." A friend of the May lie 
family ; a surgeon, fat rather from good humor than good living, 
and an eccentric bachelor, but kind and large-hearted withal. (Ch. 
xxix-xxxvi, xli, xlix, li, liii.) 

Mann, Mrs. Matron of the branch workhouse where Oliver Twist 
is "farmed." (Ch. i, xvii.) ,See Bumble, Mr. 

Martha. A pauper. (Ch. xxiii, xxiv, li.) 

Maylie, Harry. Son of Mrs. May lie ; afterwards married to his 
foster-sister. Rose. (Ch. xxxiv-xxxvi, li, liii.) 

Maylie, Mrs. A lady who befriends Oliver Twist. (Ch. xxix- 
xxxi, xxxiii, xxxiv, xli, li, liii.) 

Maylie, Rose. Her adopted daughter; an orphan, whose true 
name is Rose Fleming, and who turns out to be Oliver Twist's aunt. 
(Ch. xxviii, xxix, xxx-xxxiii, xxxv, xxxvi, xl, xli,xlvi, li, liii.) See 
SiKES, Bill. 

Monks. A half-brother of Oliver Twist. His real name is Edward 
Leeford. His father, while living apart from his wife, from whom 
he has long been separated, sees and loves Agnes Fleming, daugh- 
ter of a retired naval officer. The result of their intimacy is a 
child (Oliver), who is born while Mr. Leeford is in Rome, where h" 



©Ifber STfcDfst. lOS 

is suddenly taken ill, and dies. His wife and her son join him aj 
soon as they hear of his illness, that they may look after his large 
property, which they take possession of immediately upon his death, 
destroying a will, which leaves the great bulk of it to Agnes Flem- 
ing and her unborn child. Believing that this child will yet appeal 
to claim his rights, young Leeford, under the assumed name of 
Monks, endeavors to find him out, and, after a long search, discov- 
ers that he was born in a workhouse, but has left there. He pur- 
sues the boy, and finds him at last in London, in the den of Fagin 
the Jew, whom he makes his accomplice and confidant, giving him 
a large reward for keeping the boy insnared. The proofs of Monks's 
villany are discovered by Mr. Brownlow ; and he is compelled to 
give up one-half (three thousand pounds) of the wreck of the prop- 
erty remaining in his hands, after which he leaves the country, and 
ultimately dies in prison. (Cli. xxvi, xxxiii, xxxiv, xxxvii-xxxix, 
xlix, li, liii.) 
Nancy, A thief in Fagin's service, and mistress to Sikes, to whom, 
brutal as he is, she is always faithful and devoted. The author 
says of her in his Preface, — 

It is useless to discuss whetlier the conduct and character of the girl seems 
natural or unnatural, probable or improbable, right or wrong. It is true. 
Every man who has watched these melancholy shades of life knows it to be so. 
Suggested to my mind long ago, by what I often saw and read of in actual life 
around me, I have tracked it through many profligate and noisome ways, and 
found it still the same. From the first introduction of that poor wretch, to her 
laying her bloody head upon the robber's breast, there is not one word exagger- 
ated or over-wrought. It is emphatically God's truth ; for it is the truth he 
leaves in such depraved and miserable breasts; the hope yet lingering behind; 
the last fair drop of water at the bottom of the dried-up, weed-choked well. It 
involves the best and worst shades of our common nature, much of its ugliest 
hues, and something of its most beautiful; it is a contradiction, an anomaly, an 
apparent impossibility; but it is a truth. I am glad to have had it doubted; for 
in that circumstance I find a suflScient assurance that it needed to be told. 

(Ch. ix, xiii, xv, xvi, xix, xx, xxvi, xxxix, xl, xliv-xlvii.) See 
Sikes, Bill. 

Sally, Old. An inmate of the workhouse, who robs Agnes Flem- 
ing (Oliver's mother) when on her death-bed. (Ch. xxiv.) 

Sikes, Bill. A brutal thief and house-breaker, with no gleam of 
light in all the blackness of his character. He first appears on the 
scene during a squabble between Fagin and the Artful Dodger, in 
which Fagin throws a pot of beer at Charley Bates. The pot misses 
its mark ; and the contents are sprinkled over the face of Sikes, who 
just then opens the door. 



104 KiJe Bfcfeens Bfctfonarg. 

"Why I what the blazes is in the wind now?" growled a deep voice. "Whff 
pitched that 'ere at me ? It 's well it -s the beer, and not the pot, as hit me, or I 'd 
have settled somebody. . . Wot 's it all about, Fagin ? D— me, if my neckanke- 
cher ain't lined with beer ! — Come in, you sneaking warmint : wot are you stopping 
outside for, as if you was ashamed of your master ? Come in I " 

The man who growled out these words was a stoutly-built fellow of about five 
and forty, in a black velveteen coat, very soiled drab breeches, lace-up half-boots, 
and gray cotton stockings, which enclosed a very bulky pair of legs, Muth large 
swelling calves, — the kind of legs which in such costume always look in an unfin- 
ished and incomplete state without a set of fetters to garnish them. He had a 
brown hat on his head, and a dirty belcher handkerchief round his neck, with the 
long frayed ends of which he smeared the beer from his face as he spoke, disclos- 
ing, when he had done so, a broad heavy countenance with a beard of three days' 
growth, and two scowling eyes, one of which displayed various party-colored symp- 
toms of having been recently damaged by a blow. 

" Come in, d' ye hear ? " growled this engaging-looking ruflian. A white shaggy 
dog, with his face scratched and torn in twenty different places, skulked into the 
room. 

" Why did n't you come in afore ?" said the man. *' You 're getttng too proud 
to own me afore company ; are you ? Lie down I " 

This command was accompanied with a kick which sent the animal to the other 
end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however; for he coiled himself up 
in a corner very quietly, without uttering a sound, and, winking his very ill-looldng 
eyes about twenty times in a minute, appeared to occupy himself in taking a survey 
of the apartment. 

" What are you up to ? Ill-treating the boys, you covetous, avaricious, in-sa-ti- 
a-ble old fence?" said the man, seating himself deliberately. "I wonder they 
don't murder you : / would if I was them. If I 'd been your 'prentice, I 'd have 
done it long ago ; and — no, I could n't have sold you arterwards, though ; for you 're 
fit for nothing but keeping as a curiosity of ugliness in a glass bottle ; and I suppose 
they don't blow them large enough." 

" Hush, hush I Mr. Sikes," said the Jew, trembling. " Don't speak so loud." 

*' None of your mistering," replied the ruffian : " you always mean mischief when 
you come that. You know my name : out with it. I shan't disgrace it when the 
time comes." 

*■' Well, well, then. Bill Sikes," said the Jew with abject humility. "You seem 
out of humor. Bill." 

" Perhaps I am," replied Sikes. " I should think you were rather out of sorts 
too, unless you mean as little harm when you throAV pewter pots about, as you do 
when you blab and " — 

"Are you mad?" said the Jew, catching the man by the sleeve, and pointing 
towards the boys. 

Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying an imaginary knot under his left ear, and 
jerking his head over on the right shoulder; a piece of dumb show which the Jew 
appeared to understand perfectly. He then in cant terms, with which his whole 
conversation was plentifully besprinkled, but which would be quite unintelligible 
if they were recorded here, demanded a glass of liquor. 

"And mind you don't poison it," said Mr. Sikes, laying his hat upon the table. 

This was said in jest ; but, if the speaker could have seen the evil leer with which 
the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round to the cupboard, he might have thought 
the caution not wholly unnecessary, or the wish, at all events, to improve upon the 
distiller's ingenuity, not very far from the old gentleman's merry heart. 



©Ifber Stofst. 105 

After swallowing two or three glassfuls of spirits, Mr. Sikes condescended to 
take some notice of the young gentlemen ; which gracious act led to a conversation, 
in which the cause and manner of Oliver's capture were circumstantially detailed, 
with such alterations, and improvements on the truth, as to the Dodger appeared 
most advisable under the circumstances. 

" I 'm afraid," said the Jew, " that he may say something which will get us into 
trouble." 

'' That 's very likely," returned Sikes with a malicious grin. " You 're bio wed 
upon, Fagin." 

''And I 'm afraid, you see," added the Jew, speaking as if he had not noticed 
the interruption, and regarding the other closely as he did so, — " I 'm afraid, that. 
if the game was up with us, it might be up with a good many more; and that it 
would come out rather worse for you than it would for me, my dear." 

The man started, and turned fiercely round upon the Jew ; but the old gentle- 
man's shoulders were shrugged up to his ears, and his eyes were vacantly staring 
on the opposite wall. 

There was a long pause. Every member of the respectable coterie appeared 
plunged in his own reflections, not excepting the dog, who, by a certain malicious 
licking of his lips, seemed to be meditating an attack upon the legs of the first gen- 
tleman or lady he might encounter in the street when he went out. 

'' Somebody must find out what 's been done at the office," said Mr. Sikes in a 
much lower tone than he had taken since he came in. 

The Jew nodded assent. 

" If he has n't peached, and is committed, there 's no fear till he comes out 
again," said Mr. Sikes; '' and then he must be taken care on. You must get hold 
of him somehow." 

Again the Jew nodded. 

The prudence of this line of action, indeed, was obvious : but, unfortunately, 
there was one very strong objection to its being adopted; and this was, tliat the 
Dodger and Charley Bates and Fagin and Mr. William Sikes happened one and 
all to entertain a most violent and deep-rooted antipathy to going near a police- 
office on any ground or pretext whatever. 

How long they might have sat and looked at each other, in a state of uncertainty 
not the most pleasant of its kind, it is difficult to say. It is not necessary to make 
any guesses on the subject, however ; for the sudden entrance of the two young 
ladies whom Oliver had seen on a former occasion caused the conversation to flow 
afresh. 

" The very thing 1 " said the Jew. " Bet will go ; won't you, my dear ? " 

" Wheres ? '' inquired the young lady. 

" Only just up to the office, my dear," said the Jew coaxingly. 

It is due to the young lady to say that she did not positively affirm that she 
would not, but that she merely expressed an emphatic and earnest desire to be 
''jiggered" if she would, — a polite and delicate evasion of the request, which 
shows the young lady to have been possessed of that natural good-breeding that 
cannot bear to inflict upon a fellow-creature the pain of a direct and pointed 
refusal. 

The Jew's countenance fell ; and he turned to the other young lady, who was 
gayly, not to say gorgeously attired, in a red gown, green boots, and yellow curl 
papers. 

" Nancy, my dear," said the Jew in a soothing manner, " what do you say ? " 

" That it won't do : so it 's no use a-trying it on, Fagin," replied Nancy. 

" "What do you mean by that ? " said Mr. Sikes, looking up in a surly manner. 



106 ®I)e ©fcftens ©fctfonatj. 

" What I say, Bill," replied the lady collectedly. 

" "Why, you "re just the very person for it," reasoned Mr. Sikes : " nobody about 
here knows any thing of you." 

" And as I don't want 'em to, neither," replied Miss Nancy in the same composed 
manner, " it 's rayther more no than yes with me. Bill." 

" She '11 go, Fagin," said Sikes. 

" No, she won't, Fagin," bawled Nancy. 

*'Tes, she will, Fagin," said Sikes. 

And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate threats, promises, and bribes, 
the engaging female in question was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake the 
commission. She was not indeed withheld by the same considerations as her 
agreeable friend ; for, having very recently removed into the neighborhood of Field- 
lane from the remote but genteel suburb of RatclifFe, she was not under the same 
apprehension of being recognized by any of her numerous acquaintance. 

Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over the red gown, and the yellow 
curl-papers tucked up under a straw bonnet, — both articles of dress being provided 
from the Jew's inexhaustible stock, — Miss Nancy prepared to issue forth on her 
errand. 

" Stop a minute, my dear," said the Jew, producing a little covered basket. 
" Carry that in one hand : it looks more respectable, my dear." 

" Give her a door-key to carry in her t'other one, Fagin," said Sikes : " it looks 
real and genivine like." 

" Yes, yes, my dear: so it does," said the Jew, hanging the large street-door-key 
on the forefinger of the young lady's right hand. " There ; very good, — very goo<^ 
indeed, my dear," said the Jew, rubbing his hands. 

" Oh, my brother I my poor, dear, sweet, innocent little brother I " exclaimed 
Miss Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing the little basket and the street-door- 
key in an agony of distress. " What has become of him ? Where have they taken 
him to ? Oh I do have pity, and tell me what 's been done with the dear boy, gen- 
tlemen : do, gentlemen; if you please, gentlemen." 

Having uttered these words in a most lamentable and heart-broken tone, to the 
immeasurable delight of her hearers. Miss Nancy paused, winked to the company, 
nodded smilingly round, and disappeared. 

She finally discovers Oliver on the street, bent upon executing 
a commission with which Mr. Brownlow has intrusted him. 

He was walking along, thinking how happy and contented he ought to feel, and 
how much he would give for only one look at poor little Dick, who, starved and 
beaten, might be lying dead at that very moment, when he was startled by a 
young woman screaming out very loud, " Oh, my dear brother 1 " and he had hard- 
ly' looked up to see what the matter was, when he was stopped by having a pair 
of arms thrown tight round his neck. 

<' Don't I " cried Oliver, struggling. "Let go of mel Who is it? What are 
you stopping me for ? " 

The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from the young 
woman who had embjcaced him, and who had got a little basket and a street-door- 
key in her hand. 

" Oh, my gracious \ " said the young woman, " I 've found him I O Oliver, 
Oliver I Oh, you naughty boy, to make me suffer such distress on your account! 
Dome home, dear, come. Oh, I 've found him I Thank gracious goodness heav- 
Vus, I 've found him I " With these incoherent exclamations the youug woman 
burst into another fit of crying, and got so di*eadfully hysterical, that a couple of 



©libet Stoist. 107 

women who came up at the moment asked a butcher's boy, with a f JJ'^J^ ^^^f ^^ 
haTanoTnted with suet, who was also looking on, whether he d.d n't tlamk he had 
better run for the doctor. To which the butcher's boy, who appeared of a loun- 
ging, not to say indolent disposition, replied that he thought not. 

-Oh, no, no I nevermind," said the young woman, grasping Oliver's hand. 
« I 'm better now. Come home directly, you cruel boy, come I " 

"What's the matter, ma'am? "inquired one of the women. 

- O ma'am 1 " replied the young woman, " he ran away near a month ago from 
his parents, who are hard-working and respectable people, and joined a set of 
thieves and bad characters, and almost broke his mother's heart. 

" Young wretch 1 " said one woman. 

" Go home, do, you little brute 1 » said the other. 

«I 'm not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. -I don't know her. I haven t 
got any sister, or father and mother, either. I'm an orphan: I live at Penton- 

ville " 

« Oh only hear him 1 how he braves it out 1 " cried the young woman. 

« Why, it 's Nancy I " exclaimed Oliver, who now saw her face for the first time, 
and started back in irrepressible astonishment. 

" You see he knows me," cried Nancy, appealing to the bystanders He can t 
help himself. Make him come home, there 's good people, or he'll kUl his dear 
mother and father, and break my heart I " , .., r.-.^ 

' « What the devil 's this ? " said a man bursting out of a beer-shop, with a white 
do- at his heels. " Young Oliver ! Come home to your poor mother, you young 
dog I come home directly." , , .„ • ^ rvi- .„« 

'•I don't belong to them; I don't know them. Help, helpl" cried Oluer, 
struggling in the man's powerful grasp. 

-Help!" repeated the man. "Yes; I'll help you, you young rascal What 
books are these? You 've been a-«tealing 'em ; have you ? Give 'em here I " With 
these words the man tore the volumes from his grasp, and struck him violently on 

" That 's right 1 » cried a looker-on from a garret-window. " That 's the only 

way of bringing him to his senses I " . , i ♦ +u« 

" To be sure 1 " cried a sleepy-faced carpenter, casting an approving look at the 

garret-window. 

" It '11 do him good 1 " said the two women. 

"And he shall have it too 1 " rejoined the man, administering another blow, 
and seizing Oliver by the collar. " Come on, you young villain I Here, Bull's-eye, 

mind him, boy 1 mind him I " , , , <• +, « at 

Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness of the at- 
tack, terrified by the fierce growling of the dog and the brutality of the man and 
overpowered by the conviction of the by-standers that he was really the hardened 
little wretch he was described to be, what could one poor child do ? Darkness had 
set in- it was a low neighborhood; no help was near; resistance was useless. In 
another moment he was dragged into a labyrinth of dark, narrow courts, and 
forced along them at a pace which rendered the few cries he dared give utterance 
to wholly unintelligible. It was of little moment, indeed, whether they were in- 
teiligibleornot; for there was nobody to care for them had they been ever so 
plain. 

After taking the boy back to tbe Jew's den, Nancy, struck with his 
pale face and great grief, tries to shield him from violence. Oliver, 
leterminedto escape, watches for an opportunity, and, when the dooi 



108 2ri)e 23icftcn» ©fctfonars. 

is opened for a momint, he darts through it, followed by the Jew and 
his two pupils. Sikes's dog is also about to dash after him, when 
Nancy springs to the door, and closes it, crying, " Keep back the dog, 
Bill, keep back the dog ! He '11 tear the child to pieces." 

" Serve him right I " cried Sikes, struggling to disengage himself from the girl's 
grasp. " Stand oflf from me, or I '11 split your skull against the wall I " 

" I don't care for that, Bill; I don't care for that I " screamed the girl, strug- 
gling Tiolently with the man. " The child shan't be torn down by the dog unless 
you kill me first." 

" Shan't he I " said Sikes, setting his teeth fiercely. "I 'U soon do that, if you 
don't keep off." 

The housebreaker flung fne girl from him to the farther end of the room, just 
as the Jew and the two boys returned, dragging Oliver among them. 

" What 's the matter here ? " said the Jew, looking round. 

" The girl 's gone mad, I think," replied Sikes savagely. 

" No, she has n't I " said Nancy, pale and breathless from the scufiie : " no, she 
has n't, Fagin I don't think it." 

" Then keep quiet, will you ? " said the Jew with a threatening look. 

" No : I won't do that, either," replied Nancy, speaking very loud. " Come, 
what do you think of that ? " 

Mr. Fagin was suflaciently well acquainted with the manners and customs of 
that particular species of humanity to which Miss Nancy belonged to feel tolera- 
bly certain that it would be rather unsafe to prolong any conversation with her 
at present. With the view of diverting the attention of the company, he turned 
to Oliver. 

"• So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you ?" said the Jew, taking up a 
jagged and knotted club wliich lay in a corner of the fireplace; " eh I " 

Oliver made no reply ; but he watched the Jew's motions, and breathed quickly. 

" Wanted to get assistance ; called for the police, did you ? " sneered the 
Jew, catching the boy by the arm. " We '11 cure you of that, my dear I " 

The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver's shoulders with the club, and was 
raising it for a second; when the girl, rushing forward, wrested it from his hand, 
9.nd flung it into the fire with a force that brought some of the glowing coals 
whirling out into the room. 

" I won't stand by and see it done, Fagin I " cried the girl. " You Ve got the 
boy; and what more would you have ? Let him be, let him be, or I shall put the 
mark on some of you that will bring me to the gallows before my time 1 " 

The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as she vented this threat; and 
with her lips compressed, and her hands clinched, looked alternately at the Jew 
and the other robber, her face quite colorless from the passion of rage into which 
she had gradually worked herself. 

" Why, Nancy I " said the Jew in a soothing tone, after a pause, during which 
lie and JMr. Sikes had stared at one another in a disconcerted manner, "you — 
you 're more clever than ever to-night. Ha, ha 1 my dear, you are acting beauti- 
fully." 

" Am I ?" said the girl. " Take care I don't overdo it; you will be the worse 
for it, Fagin, if I do : and so I tell you in good time to keep clear of me." 

There is something about a roused woman, especially if she add to all her 
other strong passions the fierce impulses of recklessness and despair, which few 
men like to provoke. The Jew saw that it would be hopeless to affect any further 



©liber W:\alst 109 

mistake regarding the reality of Miss Nancy's rage ; and, shrinking involuntarily 
back a few paces, cast a glance, half-imploring and half-cowardly, at Sikes, as if 
to hint that he was the fittest person to pursue the dialogue. 

Mr. Sikes, thus mutely appealed to, and possibly feeling his personal pride and 
influence interested in the immediate reduction of Miss Nancy to reason, gave ut- 
terance to about a couple of score of curses and threats, the rapid delivery of 
which reflected great credit on the fertility of his invention. As they produced 
no visible efffect on the object against whom they were discharged, however, he 
resorted to more tangible arguments. 

" What do you mean by this ? " said Sikes, backing the inquiry with a very 
common imprecation concerning the most beautiful of human features, which, if it 
were heard above only once out of every fifty thousand times it is uttered below, 
would render blindness as common a disorder as measles, — " what do you mean 
by it ? Burn my body I Do you know who you are, and what you are ? " 

" Oh, yes ! I know all about it," replied the girl, laughing hysterically, and 
shaking her head from side to side with a poouassumption of indiSerence. 

" Well, then, keep quiet," rejoined Sikes with a growl like that he was accus- 
tomed to use when addressing his dog, " or I '11 quiet you for a good long time to 
come." 

The girl laughed again, even less composedly than before, and, darting a hasty 
look at Sikes, turned her face aside, and bit her lip till the blood came. 

" You 're a nice one," added Sikes, as he surveyed her with a contemptuous 
air, " to take up the humane and genteel side I A pretty subject for the child, as 
you call him, to make a friend of! " 

" God Almighty help me, I ami "cried the girl passionately ; "and I wish I 
had been struck dead in the street, or changed places with them we passed so 
near to-night, before I had lent a hand in bringing him here. He 's a thief, a 
liar, a devil, all that 's bad, from this night forth : is n't that enough for the old 
wretch without blows ? " 

" Come, come, Sikes," said the Jew, appealing to him in a remonstratory tone, 
and motioning towards the boys, who were eagerly attentive to all that passed : 
" we must have civil words, civil words, Bill I " 

" Civil words I " cried the girl, whose passion was frightful to see, — "civil 
words, you villain! Yes, you deserve 'em from me! I thieved for you when I 
was a child not half as old as this (pointing to Oliver). I have been in the same 
trade and the same service for twelve years since; don't you know it? Speak 
out ! don't you know it ?" 

" Well, well 1 " replied the Jew with an attempt at pacification; "and, if you 
have, it 's your living." 

" Ah, it is I " returned the girl, not speaking, but pouring out the words in one 
continuous and vehement scream. "It is my living; and the cold, wet, dirty 
itreets are my home; and you 're the wretch that drove me to them long ago, and 
that'll keep me there day and night, day and night, till I die ! " 

" I shall do you a mischief I " interposed the Jew, goaded by these reproaches, 
»-" a mischief worse than that, if you say much more." 

The girl said nothing more ; but, tearing her hair and dress in a transport of 
frenzy, made such a rush at the Jew as would probably have left signal marks of 
her revenge upon him, had not her wrists been seized by Sikes at the right mo- 
ment; upon which she made a few inefffectual struggles, and fainted. 

Discovering a dark plot against Oliver, and hearing the name 
of Miss Maylie connected with that of the boy, Nancy determines to 
10 



110 2r|[)e ©ickeus Bictionatj. 

seek out the lady, and warn her. She does so, and, disclosing what a 
life she leads, is entreated by Rose to quit it. 

"Why will you go back to companions you paint in such terrible colors ?" . . . 

'•I wish to go back," said the girl, — -'I wish to go back, because — how can I 
tell such things to an innocent lady like you ? — because, among the men I have 
told you of, there is one, the most desperate of them all, that I can't leave; no, 
not even to be saved from the life I am leading now." 

" Your having interfered in this dear boy's behalf before," said Rose ; " your 
coming here, at so great a risk, to tell me what you have heard ; your manner, 
which convinces me of the truth of what you say ; your evident contrition and 
sense of shame, — all lead me to believe that you might yet be reclaimed. Oh I " 
said the earnest girl, folding her hands as the tears coursed down her face, " do 
not turn a deaf ear to the entreaties of one of your own sex; the first — the first, I 
do believe — who ever appealed to you in the voice of pity and compassion. Do 
hear my words, and let me save you yet for better things." 

" Lady I " cried the girl, sinking on her knees, " dear, sweet, angel lady, you are 
the first that ever blessed me with such words as these ; and, if I had heard them 
years ago, they might have turned me from a life of sin and sorrow; but it is too 
late : it is too late I " 

'' It is never too late," said Eose, "for penitence and atonement." 

'' It is," cried the girl, writhing in the agony of her mind. " I cannot leave him 
now: I could not be his death." 

" Why should you be ?" asked Rose. 

'' Nothing could save him," cried the girl. *' If I told others what I have told 
you, and led to their being taken, he would be sure to die. He is the boldest, and 
has been so cruel ! " 

*' Is it possible," cried Rose, " that, for such a man as this, you can resign every 
future hope and the certainty of immediate rescue ? It is madness 1 " 

" I don't know what it is," answered the girl : " I only know that it is so ; and 
not with me alone, but with hundreds of others as bad and as wretched as mysel£ 
I must go back. Whether it is God's wrath for the wrong I have done I do not 
know ; but I am drawn back to him through every suffering and ill-usage, and 
should be, I believe, if I knew that I was to die by his hand ht last." 

Wishing to impart further information as she obtains it, Nancy 
makes an appointment to walk on London Bridge every Sunday 
night from eleven till twelve o'clock, where Miss Maylie agrees to 
meet her, accompanied only by Mr. Brownlow. Discovering some- 
thing strange in the girl's appearance, Fagin causes her to be 
watched ; and the disclosures she makes are overheard and conveyed 
to him by the spy he employs. Furious with rage, the Jew imparts 
to Sikes the fact of Nancy's informing upon them. Flinging the old 
man from him, Sikes rushes furiously from the room, and dashes into 
the silent streets. 

Without one pause or moment^s consideration, without once turning his head 
to the right or left, or raising his eyes to the sky, or lowering them to the ground, 
but looking straiglit before him with savage resolution, his teeth so tightly com- 
oressed, that the strained jaw seemed starting through his skin, the robber held 



<?&lfbcr SCtofst ' 111 

»n his headlong course, nor muttered a word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he 
reached his own door. He opened it softly with a key, strode lightly up the 
stairs, and, entering his own room, double-locked the door, and, lifting a heavy 
table against it, drew back the curtain of the bed. 

The girl was lying half-dressed upon it. He had roused her from her sleep; for 
she raised herself with a hurried and startled look. 

'' Get up I " said the man. 

" It is you, Bill I " cried the girl, with an expression of pleasure at his return. 

*' It is," was the reply. " Get up ! " 

There was a candle burning ; but the man hastily drew it from the candlestick, 
and hurled it under the grate. Seeiiig the faint light of early day without, the girl 
rose to undraw the curtain. 

" Let it be ! " said Sikes, thrusting his hand before her. " There 's light enough 
for what I 've got to do I " 

" Bill," said the girl in the low voice of alarm, "why do you look like that at 
me?" 

The robber sat regarding her for a few seconds with dilated nostrils and heav- 
ing breast, and then, grasping her by the head and throat, dragged her into the 
middle of the room, and, looking once towards the door, placed his heavy hand 
upon her mouth, 

" Bill, Bill I " gasped the girl, wrestling with the strength of mortal fear, " I — 
I won't scream or cry, — not once. Hear me, speak to me, tell me what I have 
done ! " 

"" You know, you she-devil," returned the robber, suppressing his breath. " You 
were watched to-night ; and every word you said was heard." 

" Then spare my life, for the love of Heaven, as I spared yours," rejoined the 
girl, clinging to him. "Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the heart to kill me. 
Oh ! think of all I have given up this one night for you. You shall have time to 
think, and save yourself this crime. I will not loose my hold: you cannot throw 
me off. Bill, Bill 1 for dear God's sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you 
spill my blood ! I have been true to you ; upon my guilty soul, I have.^' 

The man struggled violently to release his arms ; but those of the girl were 
clasped round his, and, tear her as he would, he could not tear them away. 

" Bill," cried the girl, striving to lay her head upon his breast, " the gentleman 
and that dear lady told me to-night of a home in some foreign country, where I 
could end my days in solitude and peace. Let me see them again, and beg them 
on my knees to show the same mercy and goodness to you, and let us both leave 
this dreadful place, and, far apart, lead better lives, and forget how we have lived, 
except in prayers, and never see each other more. It is never too late to repent. 
They told me so : I feel it now. But we must have time, — a little, little time I " 

The housebreaker freed one arm, and grasped his pistol. The certainty of im- 
mediate detection, if he fired, flashed across his mind even in the midst of his fury; 
and he beat it twice, with all the force he could summon, upon the upturned face 
that almost touched his own. 

She staggered and fell, nearly blinded with the blood that rained down from a 
deep gash in her forehead, but, raising herself with difficulty on her knees, drew 
from her bosom a white handkerchief, — Rose Maylie's own, — and, holding it up 
in her folded hands as high towards heaven as her feeble strength would let her. 
breathed one prayer for mercy to her Maker. 

It was a ghastly figure to look upon. The murderer, staggering backward to 
the wall, and shutting out the eight with his hand, seized a heavy club, and struck 
ler down. 



112 2r|)e Bicfeens Bictionarg. 

The murder done, Sikes flees into the country ; but, after wan- 
dering for miles and miles in momentary fear of capture, he finally 
resolves to return to London, thinking he can " lay by " for a while, 
and then escape to France. He seeks refuge in an old den in 
Jacob's Island, — the filthiest, strangest, and most extraordinary of 
the many localities that are hidden in the great city, — but his old 
companions shrink from him ; and one cries aloud for help to the 
officers and others below, who have tracked the ruffian to Eis retreat. 
The crowd swarm about the building, and endeavor, with thick and 
heavy strokes, to break down the strong doors and window-shutters. 
Sikes escapes to the roof, and attempts, by means of a rope, to drop 
into a ditch at the back of the house. 

Koused into new strength and energy, and stimulated by the noise within the 
house, which announced that an entrance had really been effected, he set his 
foot against the stack of chimneys, fastened one end of the rope tightly and 
firmly round it, and with the other made a strong running-noose, by the aid of 
his hands and teeth, almost in a second. He could let himself down by the cord 
to within a less distance of the ground than his own height, and had his knife 
ready in his hand to cut it then, and drop. 

At the very instant that he brought the loop over his head, previous to slip- 
ping it beneath his arm-pits, and when the old gentleman before mentioned (who 
had clung so tight to the railings of the bridge as to resist the force of the 
crowd, and retain his position) earnestly warned those about him that the man 
was about to lower himself down, — at that very instant, the murderer, looking 
behind him on the roof, threw hia arms above his head, and uttered a yell of 
terror. 

'' The eyes again I " he cried in an unearthly screech. Staggering as if struck 
by lightning, he lost his balance, and tumbled over the parapet. The noose 
was at his neck : it ran up with his weight tight as a bow-string, and swift as 
the arrow it speeds. He fell for five and thirty feet. There was a sudden jerk, 
a terrific convulsion of the limbs; and there he hung, with the open knife 
elinched in his stiffening hand. 

The bid chimney quivered with the shock ; but it stood it bravely. The mur* 
derer swung lifeless against the wall. . . . 

A dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards and forwards on the 
parapet with a dismal howl, and, collecting himself for a spring, jumped for the 
dead man's shoulders. Missing his aim, he fell into the ditch, turning com- 
pletely over as he went, and, striking his head against a stone, dashed out his 
brains. 

Of this powerfully-drawn character, Dickens says in his Pref 

ace, — 

It has been objected to Sikes. . . , — with some inconsistency, as I venture to 
think, — that he is surely overdrawn ; because in him there would appear to be 
none of those redeeming traits which are objected to as unnatural in his mis- 
tress. Of the latter objection I will merely say, that I fear there are in the 
world some insensible and callous natures, that do become, at last, utterly and 
bredeemably bad. But whether this be so, or not, of one thing I am certain, — 



©Ifber €:h)fst» 113 

that there are such men as Sikes, who, being closely followed through the same 
space of time, and through the same current of circumstances, would not give, 
by one look or action of a moment, the faintest indication of a better nature. 
Whether every gentler human feeling is dead within such bosoms, or the proper 
chord to strike has rusted, and is hard to find, I do not know ; but, that the fact 
is so, I am sure. 

(Ch. xiii, XV, xvi, xix-xxii, xxviii, xxxix, xliv, xlvii, xlviii, 1.) 

Sowerberry, Mr. A parochial undertaker, to whom Oliver Twist 
is apprenticed. (Ch. iv, v, vii.) See Bumble, Mr. 

Sowerberry, Mrs. His wife, " a short, thin, squeezed-up woman, 
with a vixenish countenance" and disposition. (Ch. iv-vii.) See 
Bumble, Mr. 

Thingummy, Mrs. An old nurse at the workhouse, who assists 
Oliver Twist into the world. (Ch. i.) 

Twist, Oliver. A poor, nameless orphan-boy, born in the work- 
house of an English village, whither his young mother, an outcast 
and a stranger, had come to lie down and die. He is " brought up 
by hand," and " farmed out " at a branch establishment, where 
twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor-laws are 
starved, beaten, and abused by an elderly woman named Mrs. Mann. 
On his ninth birthday, Mr. Bumble, the beadle, visits the branch, 
and removes him to the workhouse, to be taught a useful trade. 

The room [in the workhouse] in which the boys were fed was a large stone 
hall, with a copper at one end, out of which the master, dressed in an apron for 
the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at meal-times ; 
of which composition each boy had one porringer, and no more, — except on 
festive occasions, — and then he had two ounces and a quarter of bread besides. 
The bowls never wanted washing : the boys polished them with their spoons 
till they shone again ; and, when they had performed this operation (which never 
took very long, the spoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit star- 
ing at the copper with such eager eyes, as if they could devour the very bricks 
of which it was composed; employing themselves meanwhile in sucking their 
fingers most assiduously, with the view of catching up any stray splashes of 
gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boys have generally excellent appe- 
tites. Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation 
for three months : at last they got so voracious and wild with hunger, that one 
boy, who was tall for his age, and had n't been used to that sort of thing (for 
his father had kept a small cook's shop), hinted darkly to his companions, that, 
unless he had another basin of gruel per diem, he was afraid he should some 
night eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of 
tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye; and they implicitly believed him. A 
council was held. Lots were cast who should walk up to the master after supper 
that evening, and ask for more; and it fell to Oliver Twist. 

The evening arrived. The boys took their places; the master, in his cook's 
uniform, stationed himself at the copper; his pauper assistants ranged them- 
selves behind him : the gruel was served out, and a long grace was said over the 
short commons. The gruel disappeared; and the boys whispered to each other, 
10* 



114 2r!)e 3B(cfeens Bfctfonars. 

and winked at Oliver, while his next neighbors nudged him. Child as he was, 
he was desperate with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose from the 
table, and advancing, basin and spoon in hand, to the master, said, somewhat 
alarmed at his own temerity, — 

'' Please, sir, I want some more." 

The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed in 
stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds ; and then clung for 
support to the copper. The assistants were paralyzed with wonder, and the boys 
with fear. 

" What I " said the master at length in a faint voice. 

*' Please, sir," replied Oliver " I want some more." 

The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned him in his 
arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle. 

The Board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed into the 
room in great excitement, and, addressing the gentleman in the high chair, said, — 

" Mr. Limbkins, I beg your paidon, sir ! Oliver Twist has asked for more." 
There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every countenance. 

"For more.'" said Mr. Limbkins. "Compose yourself. Bumble, and answer 
me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more after he had eaten the 
supper allotted by the dietary ? " 

" He did, sir," replied Bumble. 

" That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. " I know 
that boy will be hung." 

Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An animated discus- 
sion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confinement; and a bill was 
next morning pasted on the outside of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds 
to anybody who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the parish : in other 
words, five pounds and Oliver Twist were offered to any man or woman who 
wanted an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling. 

After serving a short apprenticeship to Mr. Sowerberry, parish 
undertaker, and being cruelly abused, he runs off, and makes his 
way, under the guidance of Mr. John Dawkins (alias the " Artful 
Dodger") to London, where he is decoyed into the den of Fagin, 
an old Jew, and a receiver of stolen goods, who employs a number 
of young persons of both sexes to carry on a systematic trade of 
theft. From this haunt of vice, where he is cautiously and grad- 
ually instructed in the art of larceny, he is temporarily rescued {see 
Fang), but is recaptured, and watched more closely than before to 
prevent his escape. His assistance, however, being very necessary to 
the execution of a contemplated burglary, he is forced to accompany 
two confederates of the Jew (Sikes and flash Toby Crackit) on 
their house-breaking expedition. But the plan fails, as the family 
are alarmed; and the robbers flee, taking with them Oliver, who 
has been shot, and severely wounded. Being closely pursued, they 
drop the boy into a ditch, and dart oft* at full speed. On recover- 
ing his senses, Oliver wanders about till he comes to the very house 



©libet ^Ctoist. 115 

he had entered. On being admitted, he is kindly cared for by the 
lady of the house, Mrs. Maylie, and her niece Rose, who, on hearing 
his story, save him from arrest, and educate him and love him. The 
detection and punishment of the Jew and his accomplices, and the 
identification of Oliver through the zealous efforts of his new friends 
(among whom he finds an aunt in Rose Maylie), bring the tale to a 
happy conclusion. (Ch. i-xii, xiv-xvi, xviii, xx-xxii, xxviii-xxxvi, 
xli, li-liii.) See Bumble (Mb.), Fagin, Monks, Sikes (Bill). 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 

Chapter L Oliver Twist is bom; his mother dies. —II. He is " farmed" with Mrs. 
Mann; Mr. Bumble visits Mrs. Mann, explains how Oliver received his name, and takes 
him to the workhouse ; Oliver is brought before the " Board," and assigned to picking 
oakum; appointed by lot among the starved boys, he asks for " more," and is duly pun- 
ished for his temerity.— III. Mr. Gamfield's negotiations for Oliver. — IV. Mr. Sowerberry 
converses with Mr. Bumble on parish undertaking and juries; takes Oliver, who — V. 
Becomes acquainted with Noah Claypole ; on account of his " interesting expression of 
melancholy," Oliver is promoted to be a "mute," and attends his first funeral. —VI. 
He knocks down Noah Claypole ; the excitement caused by tliis exhibition of spirit. — 
VII. His punishment; he runs away. — VIII. Experiences divers hardships and ill-treat- 
ment ; meets Jack Dawkins " the Artful Dodger ; " goes with him to London. — IX. Hears 
Fagin's soliloquy over a box of stolen watches and jewelry. The " Artful Dodger " and 
Charley Bates report their success in pocket-picking at an execution. — X. Oliver goes 
out to operate with them ; is arrested. — XL His trial. — XII. His sickness at Mr. Brown- 
low's; Mr. Brownlow visits him, and is surprised by his familiar look ; reception of the 
Dodger and Charley Bates by Fagin, after Oliver's arrest. — XIII. Bill Sikes, with his dog, 
enters Fagin's room ; their altercation ; Nancy goes to the police-oflace to learn where 
Oliver is. — XIV. Mr. Brownlow's kindness to Oliver; his conversation with him, with 
Mr. Grimwig ; Oliver is sent with a parcel to a bookseller. — XV. He is caught by Nancy. 

— XVI. Impression produced on Fagin's thieves by his return and good clothes; Oliver's 
grief at having Mr. Brownlow's money and the parcel of books taken from him; he at- 
tempts to run away; Nancy protects him when retaken; her rage against Sikes ana 
Fagin. — XVII. Mr. Bumble visits the "porochial" nursery; Dick astounds him by de- 
siring to have some one write a note expressing his love for Oliver, and his wish to die; 
Mr. Bumble sees Mr. Brownlow's advertisement for Oliver, and calls on him ; tells a very 
unfavorable story of Oliver's parentage and character.- XVIII. The " Dodger " advises 
Oliver to become a "prig," to make friends with Fagin, and to steal, because, if he didn't, 
somebody else would; Oliver becomes acquainted with Tom Chitling, just out of tho 
house of correction. — XIX. Sikes and Fagin plan a burglary in which Oliver must, assist. 

— XX. Fagin tells Oliver he must go with Sikes, and gives him a book of murders to read 
till sent for; Nancy takes him to Sikes, who gives him his instructions.— XXI. Their 
journey. — XXII. Preparations fur the burglary by Sikes and Toby Crackit ; Oliver's grief 
and terror at learning their plan, and that he must aid in executing it ; he enters the house 
of Mrs. Maylie, is shot, and carried off by Sikes and Crackit. —XXIII. Mrs. Corney makes 
a cup of tea, and has some reflections over it ; Mr. Bumble calls, and discusses the obsti- 
nacy of paupers, and the great " porochial" safeguard, — to give them exactly what they 
aon't want; takes a cup of tea with Mrs. Corney, and becomes tender. — XXIV. An old 



116 2r!)e JSfcltcns Bictfonarg. 

pauper-woman on her death-bed gives hints of a revelation concerning Oliver's mother. — 
XXV. A game of whist at Fagin's ; Toby Crackit reports to Fagin the ill-success of the 
burglary. — XXVI. Fagin seeks intelligence of Sikes among the traders in stolen goods ; at 
the Tlirce Cripples; at Sikes's own room; almost betrays his o^vn guilt to Nancy ; has 
a conference with Monks. — XXVII. Hints of great things that might be said concerning 
beadles; Mr. BUmble, having weighed and counted Mrs. Corney's silver plate while she 
was at Old Sally's death-bed, on her return concludes his courtship; on his way home 
interrupts Noah Claypole eating oysters from Charlotte'shand. — XXVIII. Abandonment 
of Oliver by Sikes and Crackit after the burglary ; conversation between Giles and Brit- 
tles while pursuing them ; Oliver recovers consciousness, and wanders to the house he had 
entered the previous night; Giles's report to the other servants of the incidents of the 
burglary; in the midst of his narrative Oliver knocks, and, after considerable strategy, is 
admitted. —XXIX. EoscMaylie; the doctor comes to dress Oliver's wound. — XXX. Mrs. 
Maj'lie and Rose look at Oliver sleeping, and Rose pleads for mercy toward him; he tells 
his story ; the doctor challenges Giles and Brittles to identify Oliver as the boy who had 
broken into Mrs. Maylie's house. — XXXI. Blathers and Duff examine the premises, and 
report their opinion of the burglar}'; after taking some spirits they become loquacious, 
and tell how Conkey Chickweed robbed himself; they look at Oliver, and contemn Giles 
and Brittles for their contradictory testimony. — XXXII. Oliver expresses his gratitude to 
Rose; the doctor takes him to see Mr. Brownlow, and at Chertsey Bridge rushes into 
the house Oliver points out as the one from which Sikes and Crackit had gone to commit 
the burglary ; Oliver's disappointment at finding that Mr. Brownlow had gone to the West 
Indies; his duties and delights in the country-house to which Mrs. Mayiie moved in the 
spring. — XXXIII. Rose is taken sick; Oliver goes to the marl? et-town with a letter for 
the doctor; encounters Monks ; Rose comes outof the crisis of her fever to live. —XXXIV. 
Oliver, overjoyed, walks out, and meets Giles with Harry Mayiie; Hany tells his mother 
his love for Rose; Giles's gallantry on the night of the burglary i-ewarded; Oliver sleeps, 
and dreams that Fagin and Monks are watching him ; wakes, and finds it real. — XXXV. 
The fruitless search for them ; Harry tells Rose his love ; she explains why she must not 
become his wife. —XXXVI. The doctor and Harry Mayiie leave Mrs. Maylie's.— 
XXXVII. Mr. Bumble as master of the workhouse ; discussion of prerogative between 
him and Mrs. (Comey) Bumble ; settled decisively in her favor ; Mr. Bumble, going into a 
public-house to regain his composure, meets Monks, and makes numerous inquiries con- 
cerning Oliver's mother and the woman who nursed her. — XXXVIII Mr. and Mrs. Bum- 
ble go to Monks's hiding-place; Mrs. Bumble, after demanding and receiviui^ twenty 
pounds, relates what Old Sally told her about Oliver's mother; hands Monks a locket con- 
taining two locks of hair and a gold wedding-ring, which he drops through a trap-door, 
and then dismisses Mr. and Mrs. Bumble. — XXXIX. Sikes recovers from a fever; Fagin 
auu his boys bring refreshments ; Nancy goes with Fagin for some money fur Sikes ; she 
overhears a conversation between Fagin and Monks; gives an opiate to Sikes; goes to 
find Miss Mayiie. — XL. She repeats what she heard Monks tell Fagin about Oliver; Rose 
pleads with her to abandon her wretched course of life. — XLI. Oliver accidentally dis- 
covers Mr. Brownlow; Rose goes to his house with Oliver; Mr. Grimwig's excitement at 
hearing her account of Oliver; joyful surprise of Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin at see- 
ing Oliver ; discussion of the best mode of clearing up the mystery of his parentage, and 
securing Monks. — XLII. Noah Claypole and Charlotte, having robbed Mr. Sowerberry, 
go to London; they stop at the Three Cripples; Fagin overhears their conversation; 
shows that he knows of their theft, and proposes that they join his gang ; Noah enters 
Veartily into his plan, and agrees to undertake stealing money from children sent on 
».rrands. — XLIII. Fagin explains how Noah cannot take care of himself without having 
special regard to Fagin's interests; the "Artful Dodger" is arrested; Fagin expatiates to 
his other boys on the unusual glory of attaining to the dignity of transportation for life at 
the " Dodger's" tender age; Noah (now Morris Bolter) goes to the police-ofiice to Icam 
the "Dodger's" fate; his examination and committal. — XLIV. Nancy tries to keep her 
appointment with Rose, Sunday night, but is prevented by Sikes; Fagin observes her 
efforts, and resolves to leani her secret, and so strengthen his influence over her. — XLV. 
He sends Noah to follow her the next Sunday niglit. — XLVI. Noah dogs her steps to London 
Br ige, where Mr. Brownlow and Rose Mayiie meet her; she tells them why she foiled to 



©Ubet Stoist, 117 



XLVIII. Hisflight; ^t an inn a peddler offers to taK murdered girl's eyes and 

the murder talked of at the mail-coach , tries ^ ^leeP^ _ Brownlow causes 

figure haunt him; helps at a fire; goes f /^^ ^^^^^^^^^^'^^.^ ,n Oliver; convinces him 
Monks to be seized ; tells '"'«/^^f ^^^^^ ! f^^^'; ^ake him promise a complete state- 
that his villany, and the proofs -^ ^^;^^2nfeiii7^n oTmonev of which he had defrauded 
ment of facts in regard to Oliver, and fun res t^^^^^^^^^ Chitling's ac- 

him.-L. Jacob's island, where Faginsg^ng took r^^^^^^^^ ^^ drown, reaches the 

count of Fagin's capture; ^il^cs s dog, which he haa^^ y^^^ ^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ 

island; Sikes ^-self comes, foarfanyl^^.ggard^^^^^^ ^^.^ ^^.^^^.^ 

him; his hiding-place is discovered, ^"^^^.ff;"" ^^^^''^springing at him-falls, and 
efforts to escape ; accidentally hangs ^"^^^f J '/"/J^^^^^^^/to his native town ; he is shocked 
.ashes outhisbrains.-LLOirver'ssn^^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^^ 

at sight of Monks; ^'^^^ ^ /^^^^ ^'^OlTv „1 and describes the will and letter he 

Circumstances of the death «f,f ;,;7j^J :;[„',[^e f promise to hunt do^vn Oliver ; his 
left; the destruction ofthe will by Monks smotlicr,u^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^ 

bribing of Fagin to insnare ^.^'J^;:/"^^^^ '^^^.^.f M^^^^^ and the locket, but two old 
summoned; Mrs. Bumble ^^^^^''^'f^?^^^^^^^^^ Mr.Bumble's 

pauper-women, who overheard O^^^^ffJ^^.^fHc under her husband's direction ; Rose's 
opinion of the l^^-'-^^^Va^rrhav ^.T dafed l"^^^^^^ to match hers, and 

parentage made known; "^ - ' 7 t TT Facin on trial; his sentence; his last days 
become a clergyman, wins ^«^^^^"^;-.^.Y;^.r.rj,^ tells Oliver where he put the pape« 



FULL EEPOET OP THE FIRST [AND SECOND] MEETING 

OF THE 

FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF EVERY THING. 



These broadly humorous reports appeared in "Bentley's Miscellany," in 1837 
and 1838, while Mr. Dickens was the editor of that periodical. They were de- 
signed to satirize the proceedings of the British Association for the Advancement 
of Science, which had then been recently established. The first meeting is " holden 
in the town of Mudfog; " some of the sections sitting at the Original Pig, and 
others at the Pig and Tinder-box : the second meeting is at Oldcastle ; and the 
various sections obtain accommodation at the two rival inns, — the Black Boy and 
Stomach-ache, and the Boot-jack and Countenance. 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 

Bell, Mr. Knight (M. R. C. S.). A member of the association, 
who exhibits a wax preparation of the interior of a man, who, in 
early life, had swallowed a door-key. At a post mortem examination, 
it is found that an exact model of the key is distinctly impressed 
on the coating of the stomach. This coating a dissipated medical 
student steals, and hastens with it to a locksmith of doubtful charac- 
ter, who makes a new key from the novel pattern. With this key 
the student enters the house of the deceased gentleman, and com- 
mits a burglary to a large amount, for which crime he is tried and 
executed. The deceased gentleman had always been much ac- 
customed to punch, and it is supposed that the original key must 
have been destroyed by the acid. After the unlucky accident, he was 
troubled with nightmare, under the influence of which he always 
imagined himself a wine-cellar door, 
lis 



SlJe i^utifofl ^ssociatfon. 119 

Blank, Mr. A member who exhibits a model of a fashionable 
annual, composed of copperplates, gold-leaf, and silk boards, and 
worked entirely by milk and water. 

Blubb, Mr, A member who lectures learnedly upon a cranium 
which proves to be a carved cocoanut-shell. See Ketch, Pro- 
fessor John. 

Blunderuni, Mr. Contributor of a paper, " On the Last Mo- 
ments of the Learned Pig." 

Brown, Mr. (of Edenburg). A member. 

Buffer, Doctor. Another member. 

Carter, Mr. President of Section D (Mechanical Science), at the 
first meeting of the association. 

Coppernose, Mr. Author of a proposition of great magnitude 
and interest, submitted, at the first meeting of the association, 
to Section B (Display of Models and Mechanical Science), illus- 
trated by a vast number of models, and explained in a treatise 
entitled "Practical Suggestions on the Necessity of Providing 
some Harmless and Wholesome Relaxation for the young Noble- 
men of England.'* 

Crinkles, Mr. Inventor and exhibitor of a beautiful pocket- 
picking machine. 

Doze, Professor. Vice-president of Section A (Zoology and 
Botany), at the first meeting of the association. 

Drawley, Mr. Vice-president of Section A, at the second 
meeting. 

Dull, Mr. Vice-president of Supplementary Section E (Umbug- 
ology and Ditch wateristics). 

Dummy, Mr. Another vice-president of the same section. 

Fee, Doctor "W". R. A member of the association. 

Flummery, Mr. Another member. 

Grime, Professor. Another member. 

Grub, Mr. President of Supplementary Section E (Umbugology 
and Ditchwateristics). 

Grummidge, Doctor. A physician, who gives an account of his 
curing a case of monomania by the heroic method of treatment. 

Jobba, Mr. Exhibitor of a forcing-machine on a novel plan, for 
bringing joint-stock railway-shares prematurely to a premium. 

Joltered, Sir William. President of Section A (Zoology and 
Botany), at the second meeting of the association. 

Ketch, Professor John. A member, who is called upon to 



120 8rt)e 23f<cltens 319fctfonarg. 

exhibit the skull of the late Mr. Greenacre, which he produces with 
the remark, " that he 'd pound it as that 'ere 'spectable section 
[the section of Umbugology and Ditchwateristics] had never seed 
a more gamerer cove nor he vos." The " professor ** finds, how- 
ever, that he has made a slight mistake, and has displayed a 
carved cocoanut instead of the skull which he intended to show. 

Kutankumagen, Doctor (of Moscow). A physician, who 
succeeds in curing an alarmingly healthy man by a persevering use 
of powerful medicine, low diet, and bleeding, which method of 
treatment so far restores him as to enable him to walk about with 
the slight assistance of a crutch and a boy. 

Kwakley, Mr. A member who submits the result of some 
ingenious statistical inquiries relative to the difference between the 
value of the qualification of several members of parliament, as 
published to the world, and its real nature and amount. 

Leaver, Mr. Vice-president of Section B (Display of Models and 
Mechanical Science), at the Oldcastle meeting. 

Ledbrain, Mr. X. Vice-president of Section C (Statistics), at 
the Mudfog meeting. He reads a very ingenious paper, showing 
that the total number of legs belonging to one great town in 
Yorkshire is, in round numbers, forty thousand ; while the total 
number of chair and stool legs is only thirty thousand. Allowing 
the very favorable average of three legs to a seat, he deduces the 
conclusion that ten thousand individuals (or one-half the whole 
population) are either destitute of any seats at all, or pass the whole 
of their leisure time in sitting upon boxes. 

Long Bars, The Honorable and Reverend Mr. A mem- 
ber of the association. 

Mallet, Mr. President of Section B (Display of Models and 
Mechanical Science), at the second meeting. 

Misty, Mr. X. A member. 

Misty, Mr. X. X. Author of a communication on the dis- 
appearance of dancing bears from the streets of London, with 
observations on the exhibition of monkeys as connected with bar- 
rel-organs. 

Mortair, Mr. Vice-president of Section C (Anatomy and Medi- 
cine), at the Oldcastle meeting. 

Muddlebrains, Mr. Vice-president of Section A (Zoology and 
Botany), at the Oldcastle meeting. 

Muff, Professor. A member of the association, remarkable for 




CHEERYP.LE BROTHERS AND TIM I.TNKTNWATEU 



S!)K ptutiCoa Slssocfatfoti. 121 

the urbanity of his manners and the ease with which he adapt, 
himself to the forms and ceremonies of ordinary hfe. At the tirst 
meeting, at Mudfog, he tries some private experiments, in conjunc 
tion with Professor Nogo, with prussic acid, upon a dog. ^ ihe 
animal proves to have been stolen from an unmarried lady in the 
town, who is rendered nearly distracted by the loss of her pet 
rnamed Augustus, in affectionate remembrance of a former lover), 
Ld avenges his death by a violent attack on the two scientific 
gentlemen, in which the expressive features of Professor Muff are 
much scratched and lacerated, while Professor Nogo besides sus- 
tainin- several severe bites, loses some handfuls of hair, iro- 
fessor°Muff subsequently relates to the association an extraor- 
dinary and convincing proof of the wonderful efficacy of the 
system of infinitesimal doses. He had diffused three drops of rum 
throucrh a bucketful of water, and given the whole to a patient who 
was a^hard drinker. Before the man had drunk a quart, he was 
in a state of beastly intoxication ; and five other men were made 
dead drunk with the remainder. _ 

MuU Professor. A member of the association, who criticises 
some of the ideas advanced by Mr. X. X. Misty in his paper on 
dancing bears and barrel-organ monkeys. 
Neeshawts, Doctor. A medical member. ^ 

Noakes, Mr. Vice-president of Section D (Statistics), at the 

meeting held at Oldcastle. 
Nogo, Professor. Exhibitor of a model of a wonderful safety 

fire-escape. ,See Muff, Professor. 
PesseU, Mr. Vice-president of Section C (Anatomy and Medi- 
cine), at the meeting at Oldcastle. 
PlDkin Mr. (M. R. C. S.). Author of a paper which seeks to 
prove 'the complete belief of Sir William Courtenay (otherwise 
Thom), recently shot at Canterbury, in homoeopathy; and which 
arcues thathe might have been restored to life if an infinitesimal 
dole of lead and gunpowder had been administered to him imme- 
diately after he fell. 
Prosee, Mr. A member. -u .. *i,« 

PumpkinskuU, Professor. An influential member of the 

council of the association. 
Purblind Mr. A member of the association. 
Queerspeck, Professor. Exhibitor of a model of a portable 

railway, neatly mounted in a green case, for the waistcoat pocket. 

By attaching this instrument to his boots, any bank or public-office 
11 



122 8r!)e JBfcltens Bfctfonats. 

clerk could transport himself from his place of residence to his 
place of business at the easy rate of sixty-five miles an hour. 
The professor explains that city gentlemen would run in trains, 
being handcuffed together to prevent confusion or unpleasantness. 

Rummun, Professor. A member. 

Scroo, Mr. Vice-president of Section B (Display of Models and 
Mechanical Science), at the second meeting of the association. 

Slug, Mr. A celebrated statistician. " His complexion is a dark 
purple, and he has a habic of sighing constantly." He presents to 
Section C the result of some investigations he has made regarding 
the state of infant education and nursery literature among the 
middle classes of London. He also states some curious calcula- 
tions respecting the dogs'-meat barrows of London, which have led 
him to the conclusion, that, if all the skewers delivered daily with 
the meat, could be collected and warehoused, they would, in ten 
years' time, afford a mass of timber more than sufficient for the 
construction of a first-rate vessel of war, to be called " The Royal 
Skewer," and to become, under that name, the terror of all the 
enemies of Great Britain. 

Smith, Mr. (of London). A member of the association. 

Snivey, Sir Hookham. A member who combats the opinion 
of Mr. Blubb. 

Snore, Professor. President of Section A (Zoology and Botany), 
at the meetino; at Mudfos. 

Snuffletoffle, Mr. O. J. A member present at the second meet- 
ing of the association. 

Soemup, Doctor. President of Section C (Anatomy and Medi- 
cine) at the second meeting. 

Sowster. Beadle of Oldcastle ; a fat man with an immense 
double-chin and a very red nose, which he attributes to a habit of 
early rising. 

Styles, Mr. Vice-president of Section D (Statistics), at the 
second meeting of the association. 

Tickle, Mr. Exhibitor of a newly-invented kind of spectacles, 
which enable the wearer to discern in very bright colors objects 
at a great distance (as the horrors of the West India plantations) 
and renders him wholly blind to those immediately before him (as 
the abuses connected with the Manchester cotton-mills). 

Timbered, Mr. Vice-president of Section C (Statistics), at the 
meeting held at Mudfog. 



a;f)c il^tutjfoa Association. 123 

TooreU, Doctor. President of Section B (Anatomy and Medi- 
cine), at the same meeting. -r^ ^t v • i 
Truck, Mr. One of the vice-presidents of Section D (Mechanical 

Science), at the same meeting. 

Waghorn, Mr. Another of the vice-presidents of the same 
section, at the same meeting. 

Wheezy, Professor. One of the vice-presidents of Section A 
r Zoology and Botany), at the same meeting. 

Wiffsbv Mr. Exhibitor of a cauliflower somewhat larger l^han a 
chaise-umbrella, raised by the simple application of highly-car- 
bonated soda-water as manure. He explains, that, by scoopmg out 
the head (which would atford a new and delicious species of 
nourishment for the poor), a parachute could at once be obtained; 
the stalk, of course, being kept downwards. ^ ,^ ,. ,. . , 

Woodensconce, Mr. President of Section C (Statistics), at 
the meeting held at Mudfog. 



^{)t iCife anb ^hvtninxt^ of Ntcl)D- 
la0 Nicklebg. 



This story was begun within a few months after the completion of the " Pick 
wick Papers " (September, 1837) ,* " Oliver Twist," which followed that work, 
having been commenced in February, 1837, and carried on simultaneously with it 
for several months. " Nicholas Nickleby " was issued in monthly shilling num- 
bers, and was illustrated by "Phiz" (Hablot K. Browne). On its completion, 
in 1839, it was brought out in volume form, with a prefixed portrait of Dickens, 
engraved by Finden from a painting by Maclise, representing him as a remark- 
ably spruce young man, with a smooth face, and long wavy hair. It was dedi- 
cated to TV. C. Macready. 

The main object of the work was to expose " the monstrous neglect of edu- 
cation in England, and the disregard of it by the State, as a means of form- 
ing good or bad citizens, and miserable or happy men," by showing up, as 
a notable example, the cheap Yorkshire schools, which were in existence at 
that time. The author's purpose was answered. In the Preface to a later 
edition of " Nicholas Nickleby," he was able to speak of the race of Yorkshire 
schoolmasters '* in the past tense," and to say, " Though it has not yet disap- 
peared, it is dwindling daily." 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED, 

Adams, Captain. One of the seconds in the duel between Sir 

Mulberry Hawk and Lord Verlsopht. (Ch. 1.) 
A-frican Knife-Swallower, The. A member of Mr. Crummles's 

theatrical company. (Ch. xlviii.) 
Alice. See York, The Five Sisters of. 
Alphonse. Mrs. Wititterly's page ; so diminutive, " that his body 

would not hold, in ordinary array, the number of small buttons 
124 



Nfcf)oIas Nfcfelefis. 125 

which are indispensable to a page's costume ; and they were con- 
sequently obliged to be stuck on four abreast." (Ch. xxi, xxviii, 
xxxii.) 

Belling, Master. One of Mr. Squeers's pupils at Dotheboys 
Hall. (Ch. iv.) 

Belvawney, Miss. A lady in Mr. Vincent Crummles's theatrical 
company. (Ch. xxiii-xxv, xxix.) 

Blockson, Mrs. A char-woman employed by Miss Knag. (Ch. 
xviii.) 

Bobster, Mr. A ferocious old fellow into whose house Nicholas 
Nickleby is introduced one evening by Newman Noggs, whom he 
has commissioned to find out where Madeline Bray lives, and who 
makes the ludicrous mistake of discovering the wrono- party. (Ch. 
xL) 

Bobster, Miss Cecilia. His daughter ; mistaken by Newman 
Noggs for Miss Madeline Bray, and persuaded by him to see Nicho- 
las, and to hear him speak for himself. (Ch. xl.) 

Bolder. A pupil at Mr. Squeers's educational establishment, called 
Dotheboys Hall. (Ch.viii.) 

Bonney, Mr. A friend of Ralph Nickleby's, and the prime or- 
ganizer of the " United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and 
Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery Company." (Ch. ii.) 

Borura, Mr. A gentleman at whose house Nicholas Nickleby and 
Miss Snevellicci call (accompanied by Miss Niuetta Crummies, the 
" Infant Phenomenon " ) to induce him to put his name to IMiss 
Snevellicci's " bespeak." (Ch. xxiv.) 

Borum, Mrs. His wife ; mother of six interesting children. (Ch. 
xxiv.) 

Borum, Augustus. Their son ; a young gentleman who pinches 
the " Phenomenon " behind, to ascertain whether she is real. (Ch. 
xxiv.) 

Borum, Charlotte. One of then* daughters, who filches the 
" Phenomenon's " parasol, and carries it off. (Ch. xxiv.) 

Borum, Emma. Another daughter. (Ch. xxiv.) 

Bravassa, Miss. One of the members of Mr. Crummles's theat- 
rical company. (Ch. xxiii-xxv, xxix.) 

Bray, Madeline. Daughter of a gentleman who married a 
very particular friend of the Cheeryble Brothers. Her mother dies 
while she is a mere child ; and her selfish and profligate father, at 
a somewhat later date, is reduced, between sickness and poverty, t(S 



126 2ri)e Sicfeens IBfctfonarj. 

the verge of death. Although she braves privation, degradation; 
and affliction, for the sake of supporting him, he is on the point of 
forcing her to marry a rich old miser named Gride, when death 
suddenly carries off the unnatural parent, and Madeline is re- 
moved to Mrs. Mckleby's house. She afterwards marries Nicholas. 
(Ch. xvi, xl, xlvi, xlvii, li, lii, liv-lvi, Ixiii, Ixv.) 

Bray, Mr. "Walter. Father to Madeline, a broken-down, irritable, 
and selfish debauchee. (Ch. xlvi, xlvii, lii-liv.) 

Brooker. A felon and an outcast ; a former clerk to Ralph 
Nickleby. Being ill-treated by his master, and hating him, he takes 
advantage of favoring circumstances to make him think his only 
son has died and been buried during his temporary absence from 
home ; though, in reality, the boy has been left at a Yorkshire 
school, with the design of one day making the secret a means of 
getting money from the father. But the plan fails ; and Mr. Nickle- 
by, in the hot pursuit of bad ends, persecutes and hunts down his 
own child to death. (Ch. xliv, Ix, Ixv.) See Smike, Squeers. 

Browdie, John. ^ A stout, kind-hearted Yorkshire man, drawn 
from life. He is hetrothed to Miss Matilda Price, whom he after- 
wards marries. At his first meeting with Nicholas Nickleby, 
he becomes furiously jealous of him. Finding, however, that 
Nicholas has no intention of making trouble between him and his 
intended, he conceives a more favorable opinion of the young 
gentleman, and they become good friends. (Ch. ix, xiii, xxxix, 
xlii, xliii, xlv, Ixiv.) 

Bulph, Mr. A pilot, who keeps a lodging-house at which Mr. 
Crummies lives. (Ch. xxiii.) 

Cheeryble Brothers, The (Charles and Edwin). Twin- 
brothers, partners in business, and the benefactors and employers of 
Nicholas Nickleby. Mr. Dickens says of them in his Preface, that 
they are " drawn from life ; " and that " their liberal charity, their 
singleness of heart, their noble nature, and their unbounded benevo- 
lence, are no creations of the author's brain, but are prompting every 
day (and oftenest by stealth) some munificent and generous deed in 
that town of which they are the pride and honor." The originals 
of these characters were William Grant and Brothers (Daniel, 
John, and Charles), cotton-spinners and calico-printers, near 
Manchester. Mr. Dickens, however, never saw these gentlemen, 
or interchanged any communication with them during his life. 
Having been encouraged to tell his story to one of the brothers^ 



l^icDolas Kfcfelebs. 127 

whom be has accidentally met on the street, Nicholas is hurried into 
an omnibus, and taken straight to the warehouse, where he is 
introduced to the other brother, and, after some inquiries and 
private conference, is taken into their counting-room. (Ch. xxxv, 
xxxYii, xl, xliii, xlvi, xlix, Iv, lix, Ix, Ixi, Ixiii, Ixv.) 
Cheeryble, Frank. Nephew of the Cheeryble Brothers. He 
finally marries Kate Nickleby. (Ch. xliii, xlix, Iv, Ivii, lix^ Ixi, 

Ixiii, Ixv.) 

Chowser, Colonel. One of the guests at a dinner-party g^iven 
by Ralph Nickleby. (Ch. xix, 1.) 

Cobbey. A pupil at Squeers's school. (Ch. viii.) 

Crowl, Mr. A fellow-lodger of Newman Noggs's. (Ch. xiv, xv, 
xxxii.) 

Crummies, Mr. Vincent. The manager of an itinerant theatrical 
company. Meeting Nicholas Nickleby and Smike at an inn not far 
from Portsmouth, he advises them to adopt the stage for a profession, 
and offers to bring them out. " There 's genteel comedy," he tells 
Nicholas, "in your walk and manner, juvenile tragedy in your 
eye, and touch-and-go farce in your laugh." Of Smike he says, — 

" Without a pad upon his body, and hardly a touch of paint upon his face, 
he'd make such an actor for the starved business as was never seen in this 
country. Only let him be tolerably well up in the apothecary in ' Romeo and 
Juliet,' with the slightest possible dab of red on the tip of his nose, and he 'd be 
certain of three rounds the moment he put his head out of the practicable door 
in the front grooves O. P." 

The result is, that Nicholas, after a little deliberation, declares it 
a bargain ; and he and Smike become a part of Mr. Crummles's com- 
pany .° He treats them very kindly, and pays them well ; and when 
he finally separates from them, — on the occasion of his departure 
with his family for America,— he puts out his hand, with " not a jot of 
his theatrical manner " remaining, and says with great warmth, " We 
were a very happy little company. You and I never had a word. 
I shall be very glad to-morrow morning to think that I saw you 
ao-ain : but now I almost wish you had n't come." (Ch. xxii-xxv, 
xxix, XXX, xlviii.) 
Crmnmles, Mrs. Wife of Mr. Vincent Crummies. (Ch. xxiii- 

XXV, xxix, xxx, xlviii.) 
Crmnmles, Master. One of their sons, and a member of the 

theatrical company. (Ch. xxii, xxiii, xxx, xlviii.) 
Crummies, Master Percy. Another son. (Ch. xxii, xxiii, xxx 
xlviii.) 



128 2C!)e Bicftens IBfctfonarg. 

Crummies, Miss Ninetta. Their daughter, known and ad- 
vertised as the " Infant Phenomenon." This character was drawn 
from life ; and the original is now the wife of a distinguished 
American general. (Ch. xxiii, xxiv, xxv, xxix, xlviii.) 

Curdle, Mr. A Portsmouth gentleman, whom Miss Sncvellicci 
calls upon to request that he would put his name to her 
" bespeak ; " he being a great critic, and having quite the London 
taste in matters relatins; to -literature and the drama. He is the 
author of a pamphlet of sixty-four pages, post octavo, on the char- 
acter of the nurse's deceased husband, in " Romeo and Juliet." 
(Ch. xxiv.) 

Curdle, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. xxiv.) 

Cutler, Mr. and Mrs. Friends of the Kenwigses. (Ch. xiv.) 

David. Butler to the Cheeryble Brothers. (Ch. xxxvii, Ixiii.) 

Digby. Smike's theatrical name. See Smike. 

Folair, Mr. A dancer and pantomimic actor belonging to Mr. 
Crummles's company. (Ch. xxiii-xxv, xxix, xxx.) 

Gazingi, Miss. An actress in the theatrical company of Mr. 
Vincent Crummies. (Ch. xxiii.) 

Gentleman, The, in small-clothes. See Nickleby, Mrs. 

George. A friend of the Kenwigses. He is a young man who 
had known Mr. Kenwi2;s when he was a bachelor, and is much es- 
teemed by the ladies, as bearing the reputation of a rake. (Ch. xiv.) 

Graymarsh. A pupil at Dotheboys Hall, Squeers's school. (Ch. 
viii.) 

Green, Miss. A friend of the Kenwigses. (Ch. xiv.) 

Gregsbury, Mr. A member of parliament, to whom Nicholas 
Nickleby applies for a situation as private secretary. The require- 
ments, however, are so many, and so difficult to meet, that the situ- 
ation is declined. Says Mr. Gregsbury, — 

"My secretary would have to make himself master of the foreign policy of 
the world, as it is mirrored in the newspapers ; to run his eye over all accounts 
of public meetings, all leading articles, and accounts of the proceedings of pub- 
lic bodies ; and to make notes of any thing which it appeared to him might be 
made a point of in any little speech upon the question of some petition lying 
on the table, or any thing of that kind. Do you understand ? " 

" I think I do, sir," replied Nicholas. 

" Then," said Mr. Gregsbury, '• it would be necessary for him to make himself 
acquainted from day to day with newspaper paragraphs on passing events ; 
such as ' Mysterious disappearance, and supposed suicide of a pot-boy,' or any 
thing of that sort, upon which I might found a question to the Secretary of 
State for the Home Department. Then he would have to copy the question 



NfclJoIas KicfeleiJs. 129 

and az much as I remembered of the answer (including a little compliment 
about my independence and good sense), and to send the manuscript in a frank 
to the local paper, with perhaps half a dozen lines of leader, to the effect that I 
was always to be found in my place in parliament, and never shrunk from the 
discharge of my responsible and arduous duties, and so forth. You see ? " 

Nicholas bowed. 

" Besides which," continued Mr. Gregsbury, " I should expect him now and 
then to go through a few figures in the printed tables, and to pick out a few re- 
sults, so that I might come out pretty well on timber-duty questions, and finance 
questions, and so on ; and I should like him to get up a few little arguments 
about the disastrous effects of a return to cash-pay jaents and a metallic cur- 
rency, with a touch now and then about tlie exportation of bullion, and the 
Emperor of Russia, and bank-notes, and all that kind of thing, which it 's only 
necessaiy to talk fluently about, because nobody understands it. Do you take 
me?" 

"I think I understand," said Nicholas. 

" "With regard to such questions as are not political," continued Mr. Gregs- 
bury, warming, " and which one can't be expected to care a damn about, beyond 
the natural care of not allowing inferior people to be as well off as ourselves, 
(else where are our privileges ?) I should wish my secretary to get together a 
few little flourishing speeches of a patriotic cast. . . . This is a hasty outline of 
the chief things you 'd have to do, except waiting in the lobby every night (in 
case I forgot any thing, and should want fresh cramming), and now and then, 
during great debates, sitting in the front row of the gallery, and saying to the 
people about, ' You see that gentleman with his hand to his face, and his arm 
twisted round the pillar ? That 's ]llr. Gregsbury, the celebrated Mr. Gregsbury,' 
— with any other little eulogium that might strike you at the moment." (Ch. 
xvi.) 

Gride, Arthur. An old miser. (Ch. xlvii, li, llii, liv, Ivi, lis, 
Ixv.) See Bray (Madeline), Nickleby (Ralph). 

Grogzwig, Baron of. See Koeldwetiiout Baron Yon. 

Grudden, Mrs. An actress attached to Mr. Crummles's theatri- 
cal company, and an assistant to Mrs. Crummies in her domestic 
affairs. (Ch. xxiii, xxiv, xxix, xxx, xlix.) 

Hannah. Servant to Miss La Creevy. (Ch. iii.) 

Hawk, Sir Mulberry. A fashionable gambler, roue', and knave, 
remarkable for his tact in ruining young gentlemen of fortune. He 
endeavors to lead Kate Nickleby astray, but fails, and is punished 
by her brother. He afterwards fights a duel with his pupil and 
dupe. Lord Frederick Verisopht, in which the latter is killed. (Ch. 
xix, xxvi-xxviii, xxxii, xxxviii, 1, Ixv.) 

Johnson, Mr. The stage name given by Mr. Crummies to Nicho- 
las Nickleby. 

Blenwigs, Mr. A turner in ivory, and a lodger in the same house 
with Newman Noggs ; " looked upon as a person of some considera- 
tion on the premises, inasmuch as he occupied the whole of the 



130 8ri)e ©icfeens Bictionacg. 

first floor, comprising a suite of two rooms." (Ch. xiv-xvi, xxxvi 
lii.) 

Klenwigs, Mrs. His wife ; " quite a lady in her manners, and of 
a very genteel family, having an uncle [Mr. Lillyviek] who collect- 
ed a water-rate ; besides which distinction, the two eldest of her 
little girls went twice a week to a dancing-school in the neighbor- 
hood, and had flaxen hair tied with blue ribbons hanging in luxuriant 
pigtails down their backs, and wore Httle white trousers with frills 
round the ankles, — for all of which reasons, and many more, equal- 
ly valid, but too numerous to mention, she was considered a very 
desirable person to know." (Ch. xiv-xvi, xxxvi, lii.) 

Kenwigs, Morleena. Her eldest daughter, " regarding whose 
uncommon Christian name it may be stated, that it was invented 
and composed by Mrs. Kenwigs previous to her first lying-in, for 
the special distinction of her eldest child, in case it should prove a 
daughter." (Ch. xiv-xvi, xxxvi, lii.) 

Knag, Miss. Forewoman in Madame Mantalini's millinery estab- 
lishment, and her successor in the business. (Ch. xvii, xviii, xx, 
xxi, xliv.) 

Knag, Mr. Mortimer. Her brother ; a young man whom un- 
requited afiection has made miserable. (Ch. xviii.) 

Koeldwethout, Baron von. Hero of one of the tales told at 
a roadside inn when Nicholas Nickleby and Squeers, with other 
passengers, were detained there by an accident to the stage-coach 
in which they were travelling. The baron is described as dwelling, 
"once upon a time," with numerous retainers, in an old castle 
at Grogzwig in Germany. He is a young, jolly, roystering blade, 
and a perfect Nimrod of a hunter. Becoming tired of his monoto- 
nous bachelor-life, he marries a daughter of the Baron von Swillen- 
hausen, by whom he is soon well snubbed, and efi*ectually subdued. 
As the baroness makes it a point that the family pedigree shall 
receive an addition yearly, and as the Grogzwig cofiers are not as 
inexhaustible as her relatives suppose them to be, Koeldwethout at 
last loses heart, and resolves to make away with himself. But, 
before doing so, he smokes one last pipe, and tosses ofi* one last 
measure of wine, the efiect of which is to conjure up an apparition, 
— the " Genius of Suicide and Despair," — with which he has a 
conference that ends in his deciding to put a good face on the whole 
matter, and try the world a little longer. This he does ; and dies., 
many years after, a happy man, if not a rich one. (Ch. vi.) 



Xfc|)olas Wfcfelebs. 131 

Koeldwethout, Baroness von. His wife. (Ch. vi.) 

La Creevy, Miss. A mincing young lady of fifty ; a miniature' 
painter, who becomes a fast friend of the Nickelbys, and finally 
marries Tim Linkinwater, the old clerk of the Cheeryble Brothers. 
(Ch. iii, V, X, xi, xx, xxxi, xxxiii, xxxv, xxxviii, xlix, Ixi, Ixiii, Ixv.) 

Lane, Miss. Governess in Mr. Borum's family. (Ch. xxiv.) 

Ledrook, Miss. A member of Mr. Crummles's dramatic company, 
(Ch. xxiii, XXV, xxx.) 

Lenville, Thomas. A tragic actor in Mr. Crummles's theatre. 
(Ch. xxiii, xxiv, xxix.) 

Lenville, Mrs. His wife ; a member of the same profession. (Ch. 
xxiii, xxix.) 

Lilly vick, Mr. A collector of water-rates ; uncle to Mrs. Ken wigs, 
at one of whose anniversary wedding-parties he meets Miss Henri- 
etta Petowker, an amateur actress, and is smitten with her charms. 
He finally follows her to Portsmouth, — where she has engaged to 
appear in Mr. Crummles's theatre, — and marries her, much to the 
disgust of the Kenwigses, who have considered themselves his heirs. 
But Miss PetoAvker soon proves false, and runs away with another 
man, leaving the collector disconsolate. He returns to London, 
where he meets Newman Noggs, and is prevailed upon to go to the 
house of his relatives, where a ludicrously affecting scene ensues. 
A boy has been born to them during his absence. Mr. Lillyvick 
informs them that he never shall expect them to receive his wife, 
as she has deserted him. 

"Eloped with a half-pay captain," repeated Mr. Lillyvick, — "basely and 
falsely eloped with a half-pay captain, with a bottle-nosed captain that any man 
might have considered himself safe from. It was in this room," said Mr. Lilly- 
vick, looking sternly round, " that I first see Henrietta Petowker : it is in this 
room that I turn her oflf for ever." 

This declaration completely changed the whole posture of affairs. Mrs. Ken- 
wigs threw herself upon the old gentleman's neck, bitterly reproaching herself 
for her late harshness, and exclaiming, if she had suffered, what must his suffer- 
ings have been ! Mr. Kenwigs grasped his hand, and vowed eternal friendship 
and remorse. . . . And Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs both said, with strong feeling and 
tears of sympathy, that every thing happened for the best, and conjured the 
good collector not to give way to unavailing grief, but to seek consolation in the 
society of those affectionate relations whose arms and hearts were ever open to 
him. 

" Out of affection and regard for you, Susan and Kenwigs," said Mr. Lilly- 
vick, " and not out of revenge and spite against her (for she is below it), I shall 
to-morrow morning settle upon your children, and make payable to the survivors 
of them, when they come of age or marry, that money that I once meant to 
leave 'em in my will. The deed shall be executed to-morrow, and Mr. Nogga 



132 8E!)e iSfcfeens ISictfonats. 

shall be one of the witnesses. He hears me promise this, and he shall see it 

done." 

(Ch. xiv-xvi, XXV, xxx, xxxvi, xlviii.) 
Linkinwater, Tim. Chief clerk of the Cheeryble Brothers. 
Linkinwater, Miss. Sister to Tim Linkinwater. (Ch. xxxvii, 

Ixiii.) 
Linkinwater, Tina. Chief clerk of the Cheeryble Brothers. 

"It's forty-four year," said Tim, making a calculation in the air with hie 
pen, and drawing an Imaginary line before he cast it up, — "forty-four yeai 
next May, since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers. I 've opened the 
safe every morning all that time (Sundays excepted), as the clock struck nine, 
and gone over the house every night at half-past ten (except on Foreign Post 
nights, and then twenty minutes before twelve) to see the doors fastened, and 
the fires out. I 've never slept out of the back attic one single night. There 's 
the same mignonette-box in the middle of tlie window, and the same four flower- 
pots, two on each side, that I brought with me when I first came. There ain't, 
— I 've said it again and again, and I '11 maintain it, — there ain't such a square 
as this in the world. I hnow there ain't," said Tim with sudden energy, and 
looking sternly about him, — "not one. For business or pleasure, in summer 
time or winter, — I don't care which, — there 's nothing like it. There 's not such 
a spring in England as the pump under the archway. There 's not such a view 
in England as the view out of my window. I 've seen it every morning before I 
shaved, and I ought to know something about it. I have slept in that room," add- 
ed Tim, sinking his voice a little, " for four and fortj' year; and if it was n't incon- 
venient, and did n't interfere with business, I should request leave to die there." 

(Ch. xxxv, xxxvii, xl, xliii, xhx, Iv, lix-lxi, Ixiii, Ixv.) 
Lumbey, Doctor. A physician who attends on Mrs. Kenwigs in 

her last confinement. (Ch. xxxv.) 
Mantalini, Madame. A fashionable milliner and dressmaker. 

(Ch. X, xvii, xviii, xxi, xxxiv, xliv.) 
Mantalini, Mr. Alfred. Her husband. 

His name was originally Muntle; but it had been converted, by an easy 
transition, into Mantalini, the lady rightly considering that an English appel- 
lation would be of serious injury to the business. He had married on his whis- 
kers, upon which property he had previously subsisted, in a genteel manner, for 
some years; and which he had recently improved, after patient cultivation, by 
the addition of a mustache, which promised to secure him an easy independ- 
ence ; his share in the labors of the business being . . . confined to spending 
the money. 

When madame refuses to supply his demands, he at first resorts 
to flattery and honeyed words, then declares, that, being a burden, 
he will put an end to liis existence ; which generally has the efiect of 
softening her heart, and bringing her to terms. She is at last, how- 
ever, driven into bankruptcy by his reckless extravagance, and, the 
suicide dodge having been tried once too often, insists on a separa- 
tion, and declares her firm determination to have nothing more to 
do with such a man. The elegant and dashing fop's butterfly-life 
is soon ended, and he goes " to the demnition bow-wows." He gets 



Nic|)olas INicfelefig. 133 

into prison, and is taken out by a vixenish washerwoman, who is at 
first captivated by his handsome person and graceful manners, but, 
becoming disenchanted, keeps him constantly turning a mangle in 
the cellar in which she lives, " like a demd old horse in a dem- 
nition mill ; " making his life, as he says, " one demd horrid grind.** 
(Ch. X, xvii, xxii, xxxiv, xliv, Ixiv.) 

Mobbs. A pupil at Squeers's school. (Ch. viii.) 

Nickleby, Mr. Godfrey. Father of Ralph and the elder Nich- 
olas, to the former of whom he left three thousand pounds in cash, 
and to the latter " one thousand and the flirm, which was as small a 
landed estate as one would desire to see." (Ch. i.) 

Nickleby, Nicholas, the elder. Son of Mr. Godfrey Nickleby, 
brother of Ralph, and father of Nicholas and Kate. By his wife's 
advice he undertook to speculate with what little capital he had, 
and, losing it all, lost heart too, took to his bed, and died. (Ch. i.) 
See Nickleby, Ralph. 

Nickleby, Nicholas, the younger. The character from whom the 
story takes its name ; a young man who finds himself, at the age of 
nineteen, reduced to poverty by the unfortunate speculations and 
death of his father, but possessed, notwithstanding, of a good edu- 
cation, and with abounding energy, honesty, and industry. His 
mother being determined to make an appeal for assistance to her 
deceased husband's brother, Mr. Ralph Nickleby, he accompanies 
her, with his sister, to London. On their first interview their rela- 
tive receives them very roughly, and takes a dislike to his nephew, 
amounting to positive hatred ; but he procures him a situation as 
assistant tutor at Dotheboys Hall, — a school kept by Mr. Wack- 
ford Squeers, in Yorkshire. Nicholas proceeds thither to assume 
his new duties ; but such is the meanness, rapacity, and brutality 
of Mr. Squeers, that he soon forcibly interferes on behalf of the 
"pupils;" gives the master a sound drubbing; and then turns 
his back upon the place, taking with him a poor, half-starved, and 
shamefully- abused lad, named Smike. He returns to London only 
to find that the story of his adventure, highly magnified and dis- 
torted, has preceded him. Learning that his sister will lose a 
situation she has obtained, if he remains at home, he quits London 
again, and goes to Portsmouth, where he joins a theatrical company, 
and becomes a " star " actor. He is, however, suddenly summoned 
back to London to protect his sister from the insults and persecu- 
tions of two aristocratic roues, one of whom he chastises severelj 

12 



134 8r!)e Bicltens Sictionat^. 

under circumstances of great provocation. He then takes his 
mother and sister under his own protection, and soon after makes 
the acquaintance of two benevolent merchants, — the Cheeryble 
Brothers, — gains their respect and confidence ; is, after a while, 
admitted into the firm ; and finally marries a friend and protegee 
of his benefactors. Mr. Dickens says of this character, in his 
Preface, — 

If Nicholas be not always found to be blameless or agreeable, he is not 
always intended to appear so. He is a young man of an impetuous temper, 
and of little or no experience ; and I saw no reason why such a hero should be 
lifted out of nature. 

(Ch. iii-ix, xii, xiii, xv, xvi, xx, xxii-xxv, xxix, xxxii, xxxiii, 
XXXV, xxxvii, xl, xlii, xliii, xlv, xlvi, xlviii, xlix, li-lv, Iviii, Ixi, 
Ixiii-lxv.) 
Nickleby, Ralph. A miser and usurer ; uncle to the younger, 
and brother to the elder, Nicholas Nickleby. 

These two brothers had been brought up together in a school at Exeter, and, 
being accustomed to go home once a week, had often heard from their mother's 
lips long accounts of their father's sufferings in his days of poverty, and of 
their deceased uncle's importance in his days of atfluence, — which recitals pro- 
duced a very different impression on the two ; for while the younger, who was 
of a timid and retiring disposition, gleaned from thence nothing but forevvarn- 
ings to shun the great world, and attach himself to the quiet routine of a country 
life, Ralph the elder deduced from the often-repeated tale the two great morals, — 
that riches are the only true source of happiness and power, and that it is lawful 
and just to compass their acquisition by all means short of felony. " And," 
reasoned Ralph with himself, ''if no good came of my uncle's money when he 
was alive, a great deal of good came of it after he was dead ; inasmuch as ray 
father has got it now, and is saving it up for me, which is a highly virtuous 
purpose. And, going back to the old gentleman, good did come of it to him too ; 
for he had the pleasure of thinking of it all his life long, and of being envied 
and courted by all his family besides." And Ralph always wound up these 
mental soliloquies by arriving at the conclusion, that there was nothing like 
money. 

Not confining himself to theory, or permitting his faculties to rust, even at 
that early age, in mere abstract speculations, this promising lad commenced 
usurer on a limited scale at school, putting out at good interest a small capital 
of slate-pencil and marbles, and gradually extending his operations until they 
aspired to the copper coinage of this realm, in which he speculated to consider* 
able advantage. Nor did he trouble his borrowers with abstract calculations of 
figures, or references to ready-reckoners ; his simple rule of interest being all 
comprised in the one golden sentence, ''twopence for every half-penny," which 
greatly simplified the accounts, and which, as a familiar precept, —more easily 
acquired, and retained in the memory, than any known rule of arithmetic, — can- 
not be too strongly recommended to the notice of capitalists, both large and 
small, and more especially of money-brokers and bill-discounters. Indeed, to 
do these gentlemen justice, many of them are to this day in the frequent habit 
of adopting it with eminent success. 



T»Jfc|)olas :[<icltlel)s. 135 

On the death of his father, he is placed in a mercantile house in 
London ; applies himself passionately to his old pursuit of money- 
getting ; soon has a spacious house of his own in Golden Square ; 
and enjoys the reputation of being immensely rich. When his 
brother's widow presents herself in London, with her two children, 
seeking his assistance, he gives her to understand that he is not to be 
looked to " as the support of a great hearty woman and a grown 
boy and girl." He makes them work, therefore, for their bread, and, 
taking an intense dislike to his nephew, tries in every way to humble 
and ruin him ; but his machinations are all defeated, his illegal ope- 
rations detected, his evil deeds discovered ; and he finally hangs him- 
self in a fit of mingled frenzy, hatred, and despair. See Smike, 
Squeers. 

" In the characters of Ralph Nickleby and Arthur Gride, Mr. Dickens drew a finer 
distinction than was his wont. They are both actuated by an identical passion, — the 
love of money. But Ralph Nickleby is more than a miser : he is a man who loves the 
power which money gives, and who expends money in securing the gratification alike 
of avarice and revenge. Arthur Gride is a mere sordid miser, a wretched lioarder of 
coins, a starveling fool, who has not sense to feed his watch-dog." — Z>M6Zm Review, vol. 
CIX. 

(Ch. i-iv, X, xix, xx, xxviii, xxxi, xxxiii, xxxv, xliv, xlv, xlvii, 11, 
liv, Ivi, lix, Ix, Ixii.) 

Nickleby, Kate. Sister of Nicholas. She marries Frank Cheery- 
ble. (Ch. iii, v, x, xi, xvii-xxi, xxvii, xxviii, xxxiii, xxxv, xxxviii, 
xli, xliii, xlv, xlix, Iv, Ixi, Ixiii-lxv.) 

Nickleby, Mrs. Widow of the elder, and mother of the younger, 
Nicholas Nickleby ; a well-meaning woman, but weak withal ; very 
fond and proud of her children ; very loquacious ; very desirous of 
being considered genteel ; and remarkable for the inaccuracy of her 
memory, the irrelevancy of her remarks, and the general discursive- 
ness and inconsequence of her conversation, — traits which are said 
to have been characteristic, to some extent, of Mr. Dickens's mother. 
When she leaves her quarters in London, and goes with Nicholas to 
live at Bow, her attention is attracted by the singular deportment of 
an elderly gentleman who lives in the next house. He is so plainly 
struck with Mrs. Nickleby's appearance, and becomes so very 
demonstrative, that, although she feels flattered by his homage, she 
determines, nevertheless, to acquaint her son with the facts. 

" There can be no doubt," said Mrs. Nickleby, " that he is a gentleman, and 
has the manners of a gentleman, and the appearance of a gentleman ; although 
he does wear smalls and gray worsted stockings. That may be eccentricity, or 
he may be proud of his legs. I don't see why he shouldn't be. The prince 



136 SJe ©fcfeens 33ictionarj?. 

regent was proud of his legs, and so was Daniel Lambert, who was also a fat 
man ; he was proud of his legs : so was 3Iiss Biffin ; she was — no," added Mrs 
Nickleby, correcting herself, " I think she had only toes ; but the principle is the 
same." 

Nicholas looked on quite amazed at the introduction of this new theme, which 
seemed just Avhat Mrs. Nickleby had expected him to be. 

" You may well be surprised, Nicholas, my dear," she said : " I am sure I was. 
It came upon me like a flash of fire, and almost froze my blood. The bottom of 
his garden joins the bottom of ours, and, of course, I had several times seen him 
sitting among the scarlet-beans in his little arbor, or working at his little hot-beda. 
I used to think he stared rather; but I did n't take any particular notice of that, as 
we were new-comers, and he might be curious to see what we were like. But 
when he began to throw his cucumbers over our wall" — 

" To throw his cucumbers over our wall I " repeated Nicholas in great astonish- 
ment. 

" Yes, Nicholas, my dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby in a very serious tone, " his 
cucumbers over our wall, and vegetable-marrows likewise." 

'* Confound his impudence I " said Nicholas, firing immediately. " "What does 
he mean by that ? " 

" I don't think he means it impertinently at all," replied Mrs. Nickleby. 

" "What I " said Nicholas, — '•'■ cucumbers and vegetable-marrows flying at the 
heads of the family as they walk in their own garden, and not meant imperti- 
nently I "Why, mother" — 

Nicholas stopped short ; for there was an indescribable expression of placid 
triumph, mingled with a modest confusion, lingering between the bordei's of 
Mrs. Nickleby 's night-cap, which arrested his attention suddenly. 

" He must be a very weak and foolish and inconsiderate man," said Mrs. Nic- 
kleby, — " blamable, indeed; at least, I suppose other people would consider him so : 
of course, I can't be expected to express any opinion on that point, especially 
after always defending your poor dear papa, when other people blamed him, for 
making proposals to me. And, to be sure, there can be no doubt that he has taken 
a very singular way of showing it ; still, at the same time, his attentions are — that 
is, as far as it goes, and to a certain extent, of course — a flattering sort of 
thing; and although I should never dream of marrying again, with a dear girl 
Uke Kate still unsettled in life " — 

" Surely, mother, such an idea never entered your brain for an instant I " said 
Nicholas. ..." You know there is no language of vegetables which converts a 
cucumber into a formal declaration of attachment." 

" My dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby, tossing her head, and looking at the ashes in 
the grate, " he has done and said all sorts of things." 

" Is there no mistake on your part ? " asked Nicholas. 

" Mistake I " cried Mrs. Nickleby. " Lord, Nicholas, my dear I do yott suppose 
I don't know when a man 's in earnest ? " 

" Well, well," muttered Nicholas. 

"Every time I go to the window," said Mrs. Nickleby, " he kisses one hand, 
and lays the other upon his heart : of course, it 's very foolish of him to do so, 
and I dare say you '11 say it 's very wrong ; but he does it very respectfully, — very 
respectfully indeed, and very tenderly, — extremely tenderly. So far he deserves 
the greatest credit : there can be no doubt about that. Then there are the pres- 
ents, which come pouring over the wall every day; and very fine they certainly are; 
— very fine : we had one of the cucumbers at dinner yesterday, and think of pic- 
iding the rest for next winter. And last evening," added Mrs. Nickleby with 



:Mfc|)olas Nicfelebs. 137 

increased confusion, " he called gently over the wall, as I was walking in the 
garden, and proposed marriage and an elopement. His voice is as clear as a 
bell or a musical glass, — very like a musical glass indeed, — but, of course, I 
didn't listen to it. Then the question is, Nicholas, my dear, what am I to do ? " 

" Doefl Kate know of this ? " asked Nicholas. 

"I have not said a word about it yet," answered his mother. 

" Then for Heaven's sake.l " rejoined Nicholas, rising, "do not; for it would 
make her very unhappy. And with regard to what you should do, my dear 
mother, do what your better sense and feeling, and respect for my father's 
memory, would prompt. There are a thousand ways in which you can show 
your dislike of these preposterous and doting attentions. If you act as decid- 
edly as you ought, and they are still continued, and to your annoyance, I can 
speedily pfit a stop to them." . . . 

So saying, Nicholas kissed his mother, and bade her good-night ; and they 
retired to their respective chambers. 

Mrs. Nickleby is finally convinced that her admirer is insane, 
which nobody else is slow to perceive ; but she will not admit it 
until the old gentleman has transferred his admiration to another 
lady, when she suddenly becomes satisfied that such is the case ; 
though she persists in thinking that her rejection of his addresses is 
the unhappy cause of his madness. (Ch iii, v, x, xi, xviii-xx, xxi, 
xxvi-xxviii, xxxiii, xxxv, xxxviii, xli, xliii, xlv, Iv, Ixi, Ixiii, Ixv.) 
Noggs, Newman. Mr. Ralph Nickleby's clerk and drudge. 

He was a tall man, of middle age, with two goggle-eyes, — of which one was 
a fixture, — a rubicund nose, a cadaverous face, and a suit of clothes — if the 
term be allowable when they suited him not at all — much the worse for wear, 
very much too small, and placed upon such a short allowance of buttons, that it 
was quite marvellous how he contrived to keep them on. . . . He rarely spoke 
to anybody, unless somebody spoke to him, . . . and [was in the habit of rub- 
bing] his hands slowly over each other, cracking the joints of his fingers, and 
squeezing them into all possible distortions. The incessant performance of this 
routine on every occasion, and the communication of a fixed and rigid look to 
his unaffected eye, so as to make it uniform with the other, and render it im- 
possible for anybody to determine where or at what he was looking, were two 
among the numerous peculiarities of Mr. Noggs, which struck an inexperienced 
observer at first sight. 

This man was once a gentleman; but, being of an open and 
unsuspicious nature, he falls into the hands of Ralph Nickleby and 
other knaves, who ruin him. Reduced to poverty, he enters 
Nickleby's service as clerk and fag, both because he is proud and 
there are no other drudges there to see his degradation, and be- 
cause he is resolved to find Nickleby out, and hunt him down. He 
befriends and assists Nicholas, aids in unravelling his master's 
wicked plots, and at last has the satisfaction of telUng him what 
he has done, " face to face, man to man, and like a man." (Ch. 
12* 



138 STije Bicftens Mlctlonnv^, 

ii-vi, xi, xiv-xvi, xxii, xxviii, xxxi, xxxiii, xxxiv, xl, xliv, xlvli, li, 
lii, Ivii, lix, Ixiii, Ixv.) 

Petowker, Miss Henrietta. An actress who marries Mr. 
Lillyvick, and then elopes with a " half-pay captain." (Ch. xiv, 
XV, XXV, XXX, xxxvi, xlviii.) See Ken wigs, Lillyvick. 

PhcBbe, or Phib. Miss Squeers's maid. (Ch. xii.) 

Pluck, Mr. A creature of Sir Mulberry Hawk's. (Ch. xix, xxvii, 
xxviii, xxxviii, 1.) See Hawk, Sir Mulberry. 

Price, Matilda. A friend of Miss Fanny Squeers's, engaged to 
John Browdie, whom she afterwards marries. (Ch. ix, *xii, xxxix, 
xlii, xliii, xlv, Ixiv.) 

Pugstyles, Mr. One of Mr. Gregsbury's constituents, and the 
spokesman of a delegation that wait on that gentleman, to request 
him to resign his seat in parliament. (Ch. xvi.) 

Pupker, Sir Matthew. A member of parliament, and chair- 
man of a meeting called to organize " The United Metropolitan 
Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery 
Company." (Ch. ii.) 

Pyke, Mr. Toad-eater in ordinary to Sir Mulberry Hawk. (Ch. 
xix, xxvii, xxviii, xxxviii, 1.) See Hawk, Sir Mulberry. 

Scaley, Mr. A sheriflPs officer. (Ch. xxi.) 

Simnionds, Miss. A workwoman of Madame Mantalini's. (Ch. 
xvii.) 

Sliderskew, Peg. Arthur Gride's housekeeper ; a short, thin, 
weazen, blear-eyed old woman, palsy-stricken, hideously ugly, and 
very deaf. (Ch. li, liii, liv, Ivii, Ixv.) 

Sraike. An inmate of Squeers's house. Left with Mr. Squeers at 
an early age, and no one appearing, after the first year, to claim 
him, or to pay for his board and tuition, he is made use of as a 
drudge for the whole family. Starved and beaten, he becomes 
broken-spirited, and nearly half-witted. When Nicholas Nickleby 
arrives at Dotheboys Hall as Squeers's assistant, his heart is filled 
with pity for the poor lad, and he treats him with great gentleness 
and kindness ; and when Squeers undertakes to flog the boy within 
an inch of his life, for attempting to run away, Nicholas interferes, 
compels the ruffian to desist, and gives him as severe a beating as 
Smike himself was to have had. The two then leave the school 
and the village together, and, after various wanderings, fall in with 
Mr. Crummies, who is much struck with Smike's haggard coun- 
tenance, and secures him for his theatrical company as " an actor 



NfclJolas Nfcfeleijs. 139 

for tlie starved business," bringing him out as the apothecary in 
" Romeo and Juliet," under the stage-name of Digby. Smike is 
subsequently captured by Squeers, who meets him on the street ir 
London, and takes him to Snawley's house ; but he is aided to 
escape by John Browdie, and succeeds in finding his way back to 
Nicholas, who refuses to give him up. Introduced to Mrs. Nickleby 
and Kate and Miss La Creevy, and surrounded by all the comforts 
and pleasures of a home, Smike gradually becomes accustomed 
to the new life upon which he has entered, and recovers much 
of his natural intelligence ; but it is not long before he begins to 
droop, and, though he rallies once or twice, grows weaker and 
weaker till he dies. It is afterwards ascertained that he was the 
son of Ralph Mckleby. (Ch. vii, viii, xii, xiii, xv, xx, xxii, xxiii, 
XXV, xxix, XXX, xxxii, xxxv, xxxvii-xl, xlv, xlix, Iv, Iviii.) See 
Brooker, Squeers. 

Snawley, Mr. A sanctimonious, hypocritical rascal, who places 
his two little step-sons in the care of Squeers, at Dotheboys Hall, 
with the tacit understanding that they are to have no vacations, 
and are to " rough it a little." Acting as the tool of Ralph Nic- 
kleby, he afterwards claims Smike as his son, for the purpose of 
separating him from Nicholas, and restoring him to the custody of 
Squeers ; but his villany is discovered, and, to secure his own 
safety, he divulges the whole scheme, naming Ralph Nickleby as 
his employer, and implicating Squeers as a confederate. (Ch. iv, 
xxxviii, xlv, lix.) 

Snawley, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. xxxviii, lix.) 

Snevellicci, Miss. A member of Mr. Crummles's dramatic 
company. (Ch. xxiii-xxv, xxix, xxx, xlviii.) 

Snevellicci, Mr. Her father ; an actor belonging to the same 
company. (Ch. xxx.) 

Snevellicci, Mrs. Her mother. (Ch. xxx.) 

Snewkes, Mr. A friend of the Kenwigses. (Ch. xiv.) 

Snobb, The Honorable Mr. A guest at the dinner-party given 
by Ralph Nickleby. (Ch. xix.) 

Squeers, Wackford. A brutal, rapacious, and ignorant York- 
shire schoolmaster. To this person Nicholas Nickleby engages 
himself as a scholastic assistant on the faith of the foUowinor 
advertisement in the London papers : — 

"Education. — At Mr. Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at 
the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, youth are 



140 2ri)e Bickens Bfctfonarj. 

boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, provided with all ne- 
cessaries, instructed in all languages, living and dead, mathematics, orthography; 
geometry, astronomy, trigonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, single stick 
(if required), writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch of classi- 
cal literature. Terms, twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no vacations, 
and diet unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and attends daily, from one till 
four, at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N. B. — An able assistant wanted. 
Annual salary, £5. A Master of Arts would be preferred." 

Mr. Squeers was standing by one of the coffee-room fireplaces ; and his ap- 
pearance was not prepossessing. He had but one eye; and the popular preju- 
dice runs in favor of two. The blank side of his face was much puckered up, 
which gave him a sinister appearance, especially when he smiled, at which 
times his expression bordered on the villanous. He wore a white neckerchief 
with long ends, and a scholastic suit of black; but his coat-sleeves being a great 
deal too long, and his trousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease in 
his clothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment at finding 
himself so respectable. 

The learned gentleman had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot 
toast, and a cold round of beef; but he was at that moment intent on preparing 
another breakfast for the little boys. 

" This is twopenn'orth of mUk; is it, waiter?" said Mr. Squeers, looking down 
into a large blue mug. 

" That 's twopenn'orth, sir," replied the waiter. 

" "What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in liOndonl Just fill that mug up 
with lukewarm water, William ; will you ? " 

'.'To the wery top, sir?" inquired the waiter. "Why, the milk will be 
drownded 1 " 

'' Serve it right for being so dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for 
three ; did you ? " 

" Coming directly, sir." 

" You needn 't hurry yourself," said Squeers : " there 's plenty of time. Con- 
quer your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles." As he uttered this 
moral precept, Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of the cold beef, and recognized 
Nicholas. 

" Sit down, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers. " Here we are a-breakfasting, you see." 

Nicholas did not see that anybody was breakfasting except Mr. Squeers. 

" Oh ! that 's the milk and water; is it, William ? Here 's richness I Think of 
the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be glad of this, little 
boys. When I say number one, the boy on the left hand nearest the window may 
take a drink; and, when I say number two, the boy next hiwi will go in; and so till 
we come to number five. Are you ready ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, and you 've con- 
quered human natur. — This is the way we inculcate strength of mind, Mr. 
Nickleby." 

Nicholas murmured something in reply; and the little boys remained in tor- 
ments of expectation. 

" Thank God for a good breakfast ! Number one may take a drink." 

Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to make 
him wish for more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for number two, who gave 
up at the same interesting moment to number three; and the process was re- 
fated till the milk and water terminated with number five. 




MR. AND MRS. SQUEERS AND WACKFORD. 



Nfc|)olas NfcltUbg. 141 

" And now," said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread-and-butter for three into 
five portions, " you had better look sharp with your breakfast ; for the horn will 
blow in a minute or two, and then every boy leaves off." 

The boys began to eat voraciously, while the schoolmaster (who was in high 
good humor after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork, and looked on. In a 
very short time the horn was heard. 

" I thought it would n't be long," said Squeers, jumping up, and producing a 
little basket. " Put what you have n't had time to eat, in here, boys I You '11 
want it on the road." 

They certainly did want it on the road, and very much too ; for the journey 
was long, the weather was intensely cold, a great deal of snow fell from time to 
time, and the wind was intolerably keen. Mr. Squeers got down at almost 
every stage, — to stretch his legs, he said, — and as he always came back with a 
very red nose, and composed himself to sleep directly, the stretching seemed to 
answer. It was a long journey : but the longest lane has a turning at last ; and 
late in the night the coach put them down at a lonely roadside inn, where they 
found in waiting two laboring men, a rusty pony-chaise, and a cart. 

"■ Put the boys and the boxes into the cart ; and this young man and me will 
go in the chaise. — Get in, Nickleby." 

Nicholas obeyed. Mr. Squeers with some difficulty inducing the pony to obey 
too, they started off, leaving the cart-load of infant misery to follow at leisure. 

" Are you cold, Mckleby ? " 

"Rather, sir, I must say.'' 

*' Well, I don't find fault with that. It 's a long journey this weather." 

" Is it much farther to Dotheboys Hall, sir ? " 

" About three mile. But you need n't call it a hall down here." 

Nicholas coughed, as if he would like to know why. 

" The fact is, it ain't a hall." 

" Indeed ! " 

"No. "We call it a hall up in London, because it sounds better; but they 
don't know it by that name in these parts. A man may call his house an island 
11' he likes : there 's no act of parliament against that, I believe ? " 

Squeers eyed him at the conclusion of this little dialogue, and, finding that 
he had grown thoughtful, contented himself with lashing the pony until they 
reached their journey's end. 

" Jump out I Come in ! " 

Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long, cald-Iooking house, 
one story high, with a few straggling out-buildings. Mr. Squeers, having 
bolted the house-door to keep it shut, ushered him into a small parlor scant' 
furnished, where they had not been a couple of minutes when a female bounceu 
into the room, and, seizing Mr. Squeers by the throat, gave him two loud kisses, 
— one close after the other, like a postman's knock. This lady was of a large, 
raw-boned figure, about a head taller than Mr. Squeers, and was dressed in a 
dimity night-jacket, with her hair in papers and a dirty nightcap. (She was 
accustomed to boast that she was no grammarian, thank God I and also that 
she had tamed a high spirit or two in her day. Truly, in conjunction with her 
worthy husband, she had broken many and many a one.) 

" How is my Squeery ? " 

" Quite well, my love. How 's the cows ? " 

" The cows is all right, — every one of 'era." 

"And the pigs?" 

" The pigs is as well as they was when you went away." 



142 2C|)e 33icfeens Hictfonars. 

" Come I That 's a blessing I The boys are all as they were, I suppose ? " 

" Oh, yes I The boys is well enough. Only that young Pitcher 's had a fever." 

" No I Damn that chap. He 's always at something of that sort." 

Pending these endearments, Nicholas had stood, awkwardly enough, in the 
middle of the room, not very well knowing whether he was expected to retire 
into the passage. He was now relieved from his perplexity by Mr. Squeera. 

" This is the new young man, my dear." 

Here a young servant-girl brought in a Yorkshire pie and some cold beef; and, 
this being set upon the table, a boy, addressed by the name of Smike, appeared 
with a jug of ale, 

Mr. Squeers was emptying his great-coat pockets of letters to different boys, 
and other small documents which he had brought down in them. The boy glanced 
vith an anxious and timid expression at the papers, as if with a sickly hope that 
one among them might relate to him. The look was a very painful one, and went 
to Nicholas's heart at once ; for it told a long and very sad history. 

It induced him to consider the boy more attentively; and he was surprised to 
observe the extraordinary mixture of garments which formed his dress. Although 
he could not have been less than eighteen or nineteen, and was tall for that age, 
he wore a skeleton suit such as was then usually put upon a very little boy. In 
order that the lower part of his legs might be in perfect keeping with this singular 
dress, he had a very large pair of boots, originally made for tops, which might 
have been once worn by some stout farmer, but were now too patched and tattered 
for a beggar. God knows how long he had been there ; but he still Avore a tattered 
child's frill, only half concealed by a coarse man's neckerchief. He was lame ; and, 
as he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, glanced at the letters with a look 
60 keen, and yet so dispirited and hopeless, that Nicholas could hardly bear to 
watch him. 

" What are you bothering about there, Smike ? " cried Mrs. Squeers. " Let the 
things alone; can't you." 

'•' Eh I " said Squeers, looking up. " Oh I it 's you ; is it ? " 

''Yes, sir. Is there " — 

" Well I what are you stammering at ? " 

" Have you — did anybody — has nothing been heard — about me ? " 

"Devil a bit, not a word; and never will be. Now, this is a pretty sort of 
thing; isn't it, — that you should have been left here all these years, and no 
money paid after the first six, nor no notice taken, nor no clew to be got who 
you belong to ? It 's a pretty sort of thing that I should have to feed a great 
fellow like you, and never hope to get one penny for it ; is n't it ? " 

The boy put his hand to his head as if he were making an effort to recollect 
something, and then, looking vacantly at his questioner, gradually broke into a 
smile, and limped away. 

'• I '11 tell you what, Squeers," remarked his wife as the door closed, " I think 
that young chap 's turning silly." 

"I hope not; for he 's a handy fellow out of doors, and worth his meat and 
drink any way. Hows'ever, I should think he 'd have wit enough for us if he was 
silly. But come ! Let 's have supper; for I 'm hungry and tired, and want to get 
to bed." 

This reminder brought in an exclusive steak for Mr. Squeers ; and Nicholas had 
a tough bit of cold beef. Mr. Squeers then took a bumper of hot brandy and 
water of a stiff nature; and Mrs. Squeers made the new young man the ghost of a 
small glassful of that compound. 

Then Mr. Squeers yawned again, and opined that it was time to go to bed; upon 



KicI)olas Kicltlci)a?. 143 

which signal Mrs. Squeers and the girl dragged in a straw mattress and a couple 
of blankets, and arranged them into a couch for Nicholas. 

" We '11 put you into your regular bedroom to-morrow, Nickleby. Let me see. 
Who sleeps in Brooks's bed, my dear ? " 

" In Brooks's there 's Jennings, little Bolder, Graymarsh, and What's-his-name." 

" So there is. Yes : Brooks is full. 

" There 's a place somewhere I know ; but I can't at this moment call to mind 
where. However, we '11 have that all settled to-morrow. Good-night, Nickleby J 
Seven o'clock in the morning, mind." 

" I shall be ready, sir. Good-night I " 

'' t don't know, by the by, whose towel to put you on; but, if you '11 make shift 
with something to-morrow morning, Mrs. Squeers will arrange that in the course 
of the day. My dear, don't forget." 

Mr. Squeers then nudged Mrs. Squeers to bring away the brandy bottle, lest 
Nicholas should help himself in the night ; and, the lady having seized it with 
great precipitation, they retired together. 

The next morning, Nicholas is awakened very early by Squeers, 
who tells him that it is time to get up ; and also that the pump is 
frozen, so that he will have to give himself a " dry polish," till the 
ice is broken in the well. Mrs. Squeers now appears on the scene, 
looking busily for a spoon which is missing. 

" Drat the things I " said the lady, opening the cupboard. " I can't find the 
school spoon anywhere." 

" Never mind it, my dear," observed Squeers in a soothing manner: "it's of 
no consequence." 

" No consequence I Why, how you talk I " retorted Mrs. Squeers sharply. " la 
n't it brimstone morning? " 

" I forgot, my dear," rejoined Squeers : " yes, it certainly is. We purify the 
boys' bloods now and then, Nickleby." 

" Purify fiddlesticks' ends 1 " said his lady. *' Don't think, young man, that we 
go to the expense of flower of brimstone and molasses just to purify them ; be- 
cause, if you think we carry on the business in that way, you '11 find yourself mis- 
taken, and so I tell you plainly." 

" My dear," said Squeers, frowning. " Hem I " 

" Oh, nonsense I " rejoined Mrs. Squeers. " If the young man comes to be a 
teacher here, let him understand at once that we don't want any foolery about 
the boys. They have the brimstone and treacle, — partly because, if they had n't 
something or other in the way of medicine, they 'd be always ailing, and giving a 
world of trouble; and partly because it spoils their appetites, and comes cheaper 
than breakfast and dinner. So it does them good and us good at the same time ; 
and that 's fair enough, I 'm sure." 

Nicholas is shortly afterwards introduced into the schoolroom. 

" There 1 This is our shop, Nickleby 1 " 

A bare and dirty room, with a couple of windows of which a tenth part might 
be of glass, the remainder being stopped up with old copy-books and paper; a 
couple of old desks, cut and notched and inked and damaged in every possible 
way; two or three forms; a detached desk for Squeers, another for his assist- 
ant; walls so discolored, that it was impossible to tell whether they had ever 
\)een touched with paint or whitewash. 



144 ^!)^ Hiclfeens liictionacs* 

But the pupils ! — pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, children with 
the countenances of old men, deformities with irons upon their limbs, boys of 
stunted growth, and boys whose long meagre legs would hardly bear their bodies. 
Thei'e were little faces, which ought to have been handsome, darkened with the 
scowl of dogged suffering; there was childhood with the light of its eye quenched, 
its beauty gone, its helplessness alone remaining; there were large boys, brood- 
ing, like malefactors in jail; and there were young creatures on whom the sins of 
their frail parents had descended, weeping even for the nurses they had known, 
and lonesome even in their loneliness. With every sympathy and affection 
blasted in its birth, with every healthy feeling flogged and starved down, with 
every revengeful passion that can fester in hearts eating its evil way to their 
core, what an incipient hell I 

It was Mr. Squeers's custom to call the boys together, and make a sort of 
report, after every half-yearly visit to the metropolis : so, in the afternoon, the 
boys were recalled from house-window, garden, stable, and cow-yard ; and the 
school were assembled in full conclave. 

*' Let any boy speak a word without leave," said Mr. Squeers mildly, " and I '11 
take the skin off his back.'' 

Death-like silence immediately prevailed. 

"Boys, I 've been to London, and have returned to my family and you as 
strong and as well as ever." 

The boys gave three feeble cheers at this refreshing intelligence. Such cheers I 

" I have seen the parents of some boys," continued Squeers, turning over his 
papers ; '' and they 're so glad to hear how their sons are getting on, that there 'a 
no prospect at all of their sons going away, which, of course, is a very pleasant 
thing to reflect upon for all parties." 

Two or three hands went to two or three eyes ; but the greater part of the 
young gentlemen — having no particular parents to speak of — were wholly un- 
interested in the thing, one way or other. 

" I have had disappointments to contend against. Bolder's father was two 
pound ten short. Where is Bolder ? Come here. Bolder 1 " 

An unhealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, stepped from his 
place to the master's desk, and raised his eyes to the face ; his own quite white 
from the rapid beating of his heart. 

" Bolder," said Squeers, speaking very slowly; for he was considering, as the 
saying goes, where to have him, — " Bolder, if your father thinks, that, because — 
Why 1 what 's this, sir ? " 

He caught up the boy's hand by the cuff of his jacket. 

" What do you call this, sir ? " 

" I can't help the warts, indeed, sir. They will come. It 's the dirty work, I 
think, sir, — at least, I don't know what it is, sir; but it 's not my fault." 

"Bolder, you 're an incorrigible young scoundrel; and, as the last thrashing did 
you no good, we must see what another will do towards beating it out of you." 

Mr. Squeers fell upon the boy, and caned him soundly. 

" There, rub away as hard as you like : you won't rub that off in a hurry. Now 
let us see. A letter for Cobbey. Stand up, Cobbey I " 

Another boy stood up, and eyed the letter very hard, whUe Squeers made a 
mental abstract of the same. 

" Oh 1 Cobbey 's grandmother is dead, and his Uncle John has took to drinking, 
jvhich is all the news his sister sends, except eighteen-pence, which will pay for 
that broken square of glass. Mrs. Squeers, my dear, will you take the money ? ** 

" Graymarsh, — he 's the next. Stand up, Graymarsh I " 



T!«5fCci)olas ^JTfcS^leijfi. 145 

Another boy stood up. 

" Graymarsh's maternal aunt is very glad to hear he 's so well and happy, and 
Bends her respectful compliments to Mi's. Squeers, and thinks she must be an 
angel. She likewise thinks Mr. Squeers is too good for this world, but hopes he 
may long be spared to carry on the business. Would have sent the two pair of 
stockings, as desired, but is short of money, so forwards a tract instead. Hopes, 
above all things, that Graymarsh will study to please Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, and 
look upon them as his only friends ; and that he will love Master Squeers ; and 
not object to sleeping five in a bed, which no Christian should. Ah I a delightful 
letter; very affecting, indeed." 

It was affecting in one sense ; for Graymarsh's maternal aunt was strongly sup- 
posed by her more intimate friends to be his maternal parent. 

" Mobbs's mother-in-law took to her bed on hearing that he would n't eat fat, 
and has been very ill ever since. She wishes to know by an early post where he ex- 
pects to go to, if he quarrels with his vittles ; and with what feelings he could turn 
up his nose at the cow's-liver broth, after his good master had asked a blessuig on 
it. This was told her in the London newspapers, — not by Mr. Squeers ; for he is 
too kind and too good to set anybody against anybody. Mobbs's mother-in-law 
is sorry to find Mobbs is discontented (which is sinful and horrid), and hopes Mr. 
Squeers will flog him into a happier state of mind; with this view she has also 
stopped his halfpenny a week pocket-money, and given a double-bladed knife, 
with a corkscrew in it, which she had bought on purpose for him, to the mission- 
aries. A sulky state of feeling won't do. Cheerfulness and contentment must be 
kept up. — Mobbs, come to me I " 

The unhappy Mobbs moved slowly towards the desk, rubbing his eyes in anti- 
cipation of good cause for doing so ; and soon afterwards retired by the side- 
door, with as good cause as a boy need have. 

Mr. Squeers then proceeded to open a miscellaneous collection of letters, — some 
enclosing money, which Mrs. Squeers ''took care of;" and others referring to 
small articles of apparel, as caps, and so forth, all of which the same lady stated 
to be too large or too small for everybody but young Squeers, who would appear 
to have had most accommodating limbs ; since every thing that came into the 
school fitted him. 

In course of time, Squeers retired to his fireside, leaving Nicholas to take 
3are of the boys in the schoolroom, which was very cold, and where a meal of 
bread and cheese was served out shortly after dark. 

There ^\as a small stove at tliat corner of the room which was nearest to the 
master's desk; and by it Nicholas sat down, depressed and self-degraded. As he 
was absorbed in meditation, he encountered the upturned face of Smike, on his 
knees before the stove, picking a few cinders from the hearth, and planting them on 
the fire. When he saw that he was observed, he shrunk back, expecting a blow. 

" You need not fear me. Are you cold?" 

« N-n-o." 

" You are shivering." 

" I am not cold. I am used to it." 

" Poor, broken-spirited creature I " 

If he had struck the wi-etched object, he would have slunk away without a 
iTord. But now he burst into tears. 

'' Oh, dear I oh, dear I My heart will break I It will, it will I " 

" Hush I Be a man ; you are nearly one by years. God help you I " 

" By years I Oh, dear, dear I how many of them ! How many of them since 
» was a little child, younger than any that are here now I Where are they all ? " 
13 



146 



STfJc iSfcltens 




mine have been ! ^ 



e Boy that died here ? " 

9» 



its all silent, he cried no more for 

began to see faces round his bed, 

talked to him; and he died at last, 

; smile on me when I die ? Who will 

by cannot come from home : they 

Sow what home is. Pain and fear, 

no hope ! " 
tny. With a heavy heart Nicholas 



" Whom do you speak of? '' 

" My friends, myself, my — Oh ! wh^ 

*' There is always hope." 

" No, no ; none for me. Do you reme 

" I was not here, you know ; but whal 

" I was with him at night ; and, wheij 
friends he wished to come and sit with hj 
that came from home : he said they smilec 
lifting his head to kiss them. What faces 
talk to me in those long, long nights ? 
would frighten me, if they did ; for I don'^ 
pain and fear, for me, alive or dead. No 
I Tlie bell rang to bed, and the boy crepf 
soon afterwards retired — no, not retircdi^ere was no retirement there — fol- 
lowed to the dirty and crowded dormitory, ^f 

A day or two after this, the poor dreature Smike, in the hope of 
somehow bettering his condition, runs away. As Squeers cannot af- 
ford to lose so valuable a drudge, he is pursued, overtaken, and brought 
back, with his legs tied under the apron, and made fast to the chaise, 
to prevent his escaping on the road. 

With hands trembling with delight, Squeers unloosened the cord; and Smike, 
more dead than alive, was brought in, and locked up in a cellar until such time 
as Mr. Squeers should deem it expedient to operate upon him. 

The news that the fugitive had been caught and brought back ran Uke wildfire 
through the hungry community ; and expectation was on tiptoe all the morning. 
On tiptoe it remained until the afternoon; when Squeers, having refreshed him- 
self with his dinner and an extra libation, or so, made his appearance (accompa- 
nied by his amiable partner) with a fearful instrument of flagellation, strong, 
supple, wax-ended, and new. 

" Is every boy here ? " 

Every boy was there ; but every boy was afraid to speak : so Squeers glared 
along the lines to assure himself. 

There was a curious expression in the usher's face ; but he took his seat with- 
out opening his lips in reply. Squeers left the room, and shortly afterwards re- 
turned, dragging Smike by the collar, or, rather, by that fragment of his jacket 
which was nearest the place where his collar ought to have been. 

" Now, what have you got to say for yourself? — Stand a little out of the way, 
Mrs. Squeers, my dear : I 've hardly got room enough." 

" Spare me, sir I " • 

"Oh I that's all you 've got to say; is it? Yes, I'll flog you within an inch 
of your life, and spare you that." 

One cruel blow had fallen on him, when Nicholas Nickleby cried, " Stopl '* 

" Who cried stop ? " 

" I did. This must not go on." 

"Must not go on I " 

" No I Must not ! Shall not 1 I will prevent it I You have disregarded all my 
quiet interference in this miserable lad's behalf; you have returned no answer to 
the letter in which I begged forgiveness for him, and offered to be responsible 
that he would remain quietly here. Don't blame me for this public interference. 
You have brought it upon yourself, not I." 



Nicholas ^fickUijg. 147 

" Sit down, beggar I " 

" Wretch, touch him again at your peril ! I will not stand by and see it done. 
My blood is up, and I have the strength often such men as you. By Heaven ! I 
will not spare you if you drive me on. I have a series of personal insults to 
avenge; and my indignation is aggravated by the cruelties practised in this foul 
den. Have a care; for, if you raise the devil in m^, the consequences will fall 
heavily upon your head." 

Squeers spat at him, and struck him a blow across the face. Nicholas in- 
stantly sprang upon him, wrested his weapon from his hand, and, pinning him 
by the throat, beat the ruffian till he roared for mercy. 

He flung him away with all the force he could muster ; and the violence of his 
fall precipitated Mrs. Squeers over an adjacent form; Squeers, striking his head 
against the same form in his descent, lay at his full length on the ground, 
stunned and motionless. 

Having brought affairs to this happy termination, and having ascertained, to 
his satisfaction, that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead (upon which point 
he had had some unpleasant doubts at first), Nicholas packed up a few clothes in 
a small valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose his progress, marched 
boldly out by the front-door, and struck into the road. Then such a cheer arose 
as the walls of Dotheboys Hall had never echoed before, and would never re- 
spond to again. When the sound had died away, the school was empty; and of 
the crowd of boys not one remained. 

Mr. Squeers meets liis just deserts at last, being sentenced to 
transportation for seven years for being in the unlawful possession 
of a stolen will ; the result of which is, that Dotheboys Hall is broken 
up for ever. (Ch. iv-ix, xiii, xxxiv, xxxviii, xxxix, xlii, xlv, Ivi, 
Ivii, lix, Ix, Ixv.) 

Squeers, Mrs, Wife of Mr. Wackford Squeers. (Ch. viii, ix, 

xiii, Ixiv.) See Squeers, Wackford. 
Squeers, Miss Fanny. Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Wackford 

Squeers ; a young lady in her three-and-twentieth year, resembling 

her mother in the harshness of her voice and the shrewishness of 

her disposition, and her father in the remarkable expression of her 

right eye, something akin to having none at all. (Ch. ix, xii, xiii, 

XV, xxxix, xli, Ixiv.) 
Squeers, Master "Wackford, junior. Son of Mr. and Mrs. 

Wackford Squeers. (Ch. viii, ix, xiii, xxix, xxxiv, xxxviii, xlii, 

Ixiv.) See Squeers, Wackford. 
Swillenhausen, Baron von. Neighbor and father-in-law to 

the Baron of Grogzwig. (Ch. vi.) 
Swillenhausen, Baroness von. His wife. (Ch. vi.) 
Timberry, Mr. Snittle. An actor belonging to Mr. Crummles's 

theatre. (Ch. xxi.) 
Tix, Mr. Tom. A broker who makes an inventory of the stock 



148 8ri)e 3Bfcfeens Bfctfonarg. 

in Madame Mantalini's millinery establishment on the occasion of 

her sudden failure. (Ch. xlviii.) 
Tom. • Clerk at the General Agency office. (Ch. xvi, xliii.) 
Tomkins. One of Squeers's pupils. (Ch. xiii.) 
Trimmers, Mr. A friend of the Cheeryble Brothers. (Ch. xxxv.) 
Verisopht, Lord Frederick. A silly young nobleman, the tool 

of Sir Mulberry Hawk. He becomes enamoured of Kate Nickleby, 

and has an angry altercation concerning her with Sir Mulberry. 

The quarrel leads to a duel, in which Lord Frederick is killed. 

(Ch. xix, xxvi-xxviii, xxxviii, 1.) See Hawk, Sir Mulberry. 
I Westwood, Mr. One of the seconds in the duel between Sir 

Mulberry Hawk and Lord Verisopht. (Ch. 1.) 
William. A waiter at the Saracen's Head Inn. (Ch. v.) 
"Wititterly, Mrs. Julia. A lady of the middle class, who apes 

the airs and style of the aristocracy, and with whom Kate Nickleby 

lives for a while as companion. (Ch. xxi, xxvii, xxviii.) 
Wititterly, Mr. Henry. Husband to Mrs. Wititterly. Being 

informed that Kate has applied for a situation as companion to his 

wife, he discusses the matter for some time with Mrs. Wititterly in 

whispers. At length he notices Kate. 

'* Oh I " he said, turning round, " yes. This is a most important matter. Mrs. 
Wititterly is of a very excitable nature, very delicate, very fragile, a hot-house 
plant, an exotic." 

" O Henry ! my dear," interposed Mrs. Wititterly. 

" You are, my love ; you know you are. One breath " — said Mr. W., blowing 
an imaginary feather away. " Pho I you 're gone." 

The lady sighed. 

" Your soul is too large for your body," said Mr. Wititterly. " Your intellect 
wears you out : all the medical men say so. You know that there is not a physi- 
cian who is not proud of being called in to you. What is their unanimous dec- 
laration ? ' My dear doctor,' said I to Sir Tumley Snufflm, in this very room, 
the very last time he came, — ' my dear doctor, what is my wife's complaint ? 
Tell me all. I can bear it. Is it nerves ? ' — ' My dear fellow,' he said, ' be proud 
of that woman ; make much of her : she is an ornament to the feshionable world, 
and to you. Her complaint is soul : it swells, expands, dilates — the blood fires, 
the pulse quickens, the excitement increases — whew I ' " Here Mr. Wititterly, 
who, in the ardor of his description, had flourished his right hand to within 
something less than an inch of Mrs. Nickleby's bonnet, drew it hastily back 
again, and blew his nose as fiercely as if it had been done by some violent 
machinery. 

" You make me out worse than I am, Henry," said Mrs. Wititterly with a 
faint smile. 

" I do not, Julia; I do not," said Mr. W. *' The society in which you move — 
necessarily move, from your station, connection, and endowments — is one vor- 
tex and whirlpool of the most frightful excitement. . . . And for that very 



Nfci)olas T!<ffcfelet)2. 149 

reason you must have a companion in whom there is great gentleness, great 
sweetness, excessive sympathy, and perfect repose." 

Here both Mr. and Mrs. Wititterly, who had talked rather at the Nicklebya 
than to each other, left off speaking, and looked at their two hearers with an 
expression of countenance which seemed to say, " What do you think of all 
that?" 

" Mrs. "Wititterly," said her husband, addressing himself to Mrs. Nickleby, 
*' is sought after and courted by glittering crowds and brilliant circles. She is 
excited by the opera, the drama, the fine arts, the — the — the" — 

" The nobility, my love," interposed Mrs. Wititterly. 

" The nobility, of course," said Mr. Wititterly, " and the military. She 
forms and expresses an immense variety of opinions, on an immense variety of 
subjects. If some people in public life were acquainted with Mrs. Wititterly's 
real opinion of them, they would not hold their heads perhaps quite as high as 
they do." 

(Ch. xxi, xxvli, xxviii, xxxiii.) 

Tork, The Five Sisters of. The title of a story told by a 
gray-haired gentleman at a roadside inn between Grantham and 
Newark, for the amusement of his fellow-passengers, who have been 
detained there by the breaking-down of a stage-coach. The five 
sisters are represented as living in York in the early part of the 
sixteenth century, in an old house belonging to the black monks 
of St. Benedict. While engaged in embroidering a complicated 
and intricate pattern, they are visited by one of the monks, who 
urges them to take the veil ; but, under the influence of the youngest 
sister (named Alice), they refuse to do so, believing that peace 
and virtue can be found beyond as well as within a convent's 
walls. Years pass by, bringing change and separation and sor- 
row ; but at last the four elder sisters meet again in the old home : 
and again the same black monk urges them by all the sad memories 
of the past to seek consolation and peace within the sheltering 
arms of the Church. Remembering how the young heart of their 
lost sister had sickened at the thought of cloistered walls, they agaio 
refuse. As a work of piety, however, as well as a memorial of affec 
tion, they cause to be executed in five compartments of stained glass 
fitted into a large window in York Cathedral (which is still showi 
there under the name of the Five Sisters), a faithful copy of theii 
old embroidery-work, through which the sun may shine brightly on 
a flat stone in the nave, which bears the name of ^lice. (Ch. vi.) 



150 STlje ©icftens Bictfonars. 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 

Chapter I. —Sketch of the history of the Nlckleby family previous to the time of onr 
story, and death of Mr. Nlckleby, father of its hero. — II. Description of Mr. Ralph ITlckleby, 
and of his business ; formation of the Crumpet Company. — III. Ralph Nickleby receives 
the news of his brother's death, and the arrival of the widow and her children In London ; 
he finds them in lodgings at Miss La Creevy's, and proceeds to provide for them by promis- 
ing to secure Nicholas a situation as assistant in the academy of Mr. Wackford Squeers 
in Yorkshire. — IV. Interview between Mr. Squeers and Mr. Snawley; Ralph and his 
nephew call upon Mr. Squeers, and Nicholas secures the situation ; Nicholas informs New- 
man Noggs of his uncle's intentions in regard to him. — V. Nicholas bids adieu to Miss 
La Creevy, and leaves the house without disturbing his mother and sister; how Mr, 
Squeers and his boys breakfasted ; Ralph, Mrs. Nickleby, and Kate come to see Nicholas 
off, also Newman Noggs, who secretly gives him a letter. — VI. On the journey to York- 
shire the coach is overturned ; while waiting for another, one gentleman entertains his 
fellow-passengers with the story of the Five Sisters of York ; and another one relates the 
story of the Baron of Grogzwig; they leave the stage at Greta Bridge, and Mr. Squeers 
"stretches his legs," as he has frequently done on the journey. — VII. They reach 
Dotheboys Hall, with which Nicholas is not favorably impressed; he is introduced to Mrs. 
Squeers; notices the sad appearance of Smike, and gets an idea of the internal economy 
of Squeers's establishment ; he reads Ne^^^nan Noggs's letter. — VIII. Mrs. Squeers im- 
proves the boys' appetites by dosing them with brimstone and treacle ; Mr. Squeers shows 
his practical mode of teaching, makes a report to the school of his journey to London, 
and adds a liberal discipline with the cane ; Nicholas shows his sympathy for Smike. — IX. 
Mrs. Squeers expresses her opinion of Nicholas ; Miss Fanny Squeers makes an errand 
into the schoolroom, in her father's absence, for the purpose of inspecting Nicholas; his 
appearance being satisfactory, she at once falls in love with him, and hastens to inform her 
bosom-friend. Miss Price, of her attachment and its return ; Miss Squeers makes a little 
party for the purpose of introducing Nicholas to her friends ; he excites the jealousy of Mr. 
John Browdie ; and Miss Price does the same service for Fanny Squeers. — X. Miss La 
Creevy paints Kate Nickleby's portrait ; discussing the character of Ralph Nickleby, they 
are interrupted by the appearance of that gentleman ; Ralph informs Kate and her mother 
of the situation he has obtained for her in the establishment of Madame Mantaliui ; Kate 
has an interview with Mr. and Madame Mantalini. — XI. Newman Noggs moves Mrs. 
Nickleby and Kate into the house of which Ralph Nickleby has given them possession. — 
XII. Miss Price infonns Miss Squeers that her wedding-day is fixed ; Nicholas in his soli- 
tary walk is met by Miss Squeers and her friend, and a scene follows in which he declares 
his sentiments for the schoolmaster's daughter; Nicholas has a conversation with Smike. 
— XIII. Smike runs away, is pursued in one direction by Squeers, and in another by his 
wife, and is overtaken and brought back by Mrs. Squeers ; Mr. Squeers is about to flog 
Smike, when he is stopped by Nicholas, who beats the brute severely, and leaves the house ; 
meeting John Browdie, that worthy individual is greatly delighted to hear of Nicholas's 
exploit, and assists him on his way; Nicholas is joined by Smike. — XIV. Newman Noggs 
attends the party of the Kenwigses on their wedding-day, and is called away b}' the arrival 
of Nicholas and Smike. — XV. Newman reads to Nicholas the copy of Fanny Squeers's 
letter to Ralph Nickleby ; Nicholas rescues the infant Kenwigs from a dangerous position, 
and makes a favorable impression on the company. — XVI. Nicholas, visiting an intelli- 
gence-office in search of employment, is struck with the appearance of a young lady whom 
nc meets there; being referred to Mr. Gregsbury, M.P., he visits that gentleman just as 
he is waited upon by his constituents ; he finds the situation not adapted to his wants, 
and he accepts, as Mr. Johnson, the position of private tutor to the Kenwigs cliildren , 
enters upon the duties of that position under the inspection of Mr. Lilly vick. — XVII. Kato 
Nickleby commences her labors at Madame Mantalini's, and is introduced to Miss Knag. — 
XVIII. Miss Knag conceives a warm affection for Kate, and makes the acquaintance of 
ftlrs. Nickleby; Kate and her mother go home with Miss Knag to her brother's, and learn 



Hfffcljolas ^ficftleljs. 151 

•omething of the history of that gentleman ; Kate, being preferred by some ladies to Misa 
Knag, loses the fore-Avoman's good opinion. — XIX. Ralph Nickleby invites Kate to dine 
with him ; she is astonished to find his house richly furnished ; Kalph introduces her to his 
guests, Lord Frederick Verisopht and Sir Mulberry Hawk; Kate bears their insulting 
manner as long as she can, and then hurries from the room ; Sir Mulberry finds her alone, 
and, pursuing his attentions, is interrupted by Ralph Nickleby; Ralph and Sir Mulberry 
understand each other. — XX. Miss La Creevy has an interview with Miss Knag; Miss La 
Creevy is astonished at the return of Nicholas, and undertakes to prepare his mother and 
Kate for his coming ; Ralph visits the widow to inform her of her son's misdemeanors, and 
is confronted by Nicholas himself, who repels his charges, but who, for the sake of his 
mother and Kate, leaves them to the care of his uncle, and departs. — XXI. INIadame Mau- 
talini's establishment falls into the hands of the sheriff; Mr. Mantalini threatens suicide; 
and Kate finds herself without a situation ; Mrs. Nickleby urges Kate to answer an adver- 
tisement for a companion, and she applies for and secures a situation in that capacity in 
the fomily of Mrs. Wititterly. — XXII. Nicholas and Smike leave London for Portsmouth, 
in search of fortune ; Nicholas attempts to revive Smike's recollections of his childhood ; 
they fall in with Mr. Vincent Crummies, witness the rehearsal of a stage-combat by the 
Masters Crummies, and Nicholas embraces the offer of Mr. Crummies, and joins the theat- 
rical profession. —XXIII. They proceed to Portsmouth, Mr. Crummies giving an account 
of his wonderful pony by the way, and Nicholas is introduced to the company ; Mr. 
Crummies announces a new play, of which Nicholas is to be the author, and shows him 
how to make use of the French original; Nicholas dines with Mr. and Mrs. Crummies, 
and then finds lodgings for himself and Smike. — XXIV. Mr. Folair and Mr. Lenville give 
Nicholas some hints of value in his task of composition; Nicholas accompanies Miss 
Snevellicci in her calls on the occasion of her " bespeak ; " Nicholas appears in his new 
piece, and meets with decided success. — XXV. Mr. Crummles's company is joined by 
Miss Henrietta Petowker from London, and Mr. Lillyvick follows her; Mr. Lilly vick 
makes known to Nicholas his intentions in regard to Miss Petowker; Mr. Lillyvick and 
Miss Petowker are married, and have their wedding-breakfast; Nicholas instructs Smike 
in the part of the Apothecary. — XXVI. Lord Verisopht and Sir Mulberry Hawk determine 
to find out Kate Nickleby, and Lord Frederick learns her address from Ralph ; they en- 
counter Mrs. Nickleby, and show her particular attention, which sets that good lady 
castle-building. — XXVII. Messrs. Pyke and Pluck call upon Mrs. Nickleby as the friends 
of Sir Mulben-y Hawk, and invite her to make one of their party at the play ; at the play 
she finds herself in the next box to Kate, who is in company with the Wititterlys ; Sir 
Mulberry makes a division of the party, so as to secure Kate's society to himself, and be- 
comes more insulting in his attentions. — XXVIII. Sir Mulberry and Lord Frederick, 
backed by Pyke and Pluck, follow up their advantage, and call at the Wititterlys' ; Kate, 
harassed beyond endurance, seeks her uncle, and claims his protection, but he declines to 
interfere. — XXIX. Mr. Lenville, jealous of Nicholas's increasing popularity, threatens 
him with punishment; attempting to execute his threat in the presence of the company, 
lie finds himself disappointed ; Nicliolas receives warning from Newman Noggs that his 
presence in London may be necessary for Kate's protection. — XXX. Mr. Crummies ar- 
ranges three "last appearances " for Mr. Johnson ; Nicholas, at Miss Snevellicci's earnest 
invitation, accompanies that young lady home, where he becomes the hero of the dinner- 
feast, and Miss .Snevellicci gives way to her feelings ; the appearance of a London manager 
in the audience creates an unusual excitement behind the curtain; Nicholas receives 
another letter from Newman, and hurries his departure for London. — XXXI. Ralph Nickle- 
by detects Newman watching him ; Newman consults with Miss La Creevy in regard to 
Kate and the return of Nicholas. —XXXII. Nicholas returns to London, and, not finding 
Newman or Miss La Creevy, strolls into a hotel, where he overhears Sir Mulberry and his 
party licentiously jesting about Kate, and demands satisfaction; receiving only insult in 
reply, he assaults Sir Mulberry as he is entering his carriage to leave, the horse takes 
fright, and Sir Mulberry receives serious injury. — XXXIII. Newman relates to Nicholas 
the position of affairs in regard to Kate, and Nicholas loses no time in removing her from 
Mrs. Wittitterly's; he also removes his mother and Kate back to the lodgings at Miss La 
Creevy 's. and returns the key of Ralph Nickleby's house to the owner. —XXXTV. Mrs. 
WidMr. Mantalini transact a little business with Ralph Nickleby; Mr. Mantalini informs 



152 SC|)e Mlcttns Bfctionurs. 

Ralph of the altercation between Nicholas and Sir Mulberry Ilawt ; Mr. Squeers surprises 
Ralph by calling upon him; thej' plan to retaliate upon Nicholas through his affection for 
Smike. —XXXV. Smike is introduced to Mrs. Kickleby and Kate ; Nicholas tries the Regis- 
ter OflSce again for emplo3'meut, and meets Mr. Charles Cheeryble, who takes him to his 
warehouse, where he meets Mr. Ned Cheeryble and Tim Linkinwater; he enters the em- 
ploy of Cheeryble Brothers, and removes his mother and Kate to a cottage which his 
employers let him at Bow. —XXXVI. The Kenwigses, rejoicing over an addition to their 
family, have their joy turned to grief by the news Nicholas brings of the marriage of Mr. 
Lillyvick. — XXXVII. Nicholas's labors meet the entire approval of Tim Linkinwater; 
Cheeryble Brothers give Tim Linkinwater a dinner on his birthday ; Mrs. Nickleby informa 
Nicholas of the singular proceedings of their next neighbor. — XXXVIII. Miss La Creevy 
notices a sorrowful change in Smike; Ralph Nicklebj' waits upon Sir Mulberry Hawk, 
and they discuss his injury from the attack of Nicholas; Lord Frederick refuses to be a 
party to any assault upon Nicholas; Smike is arrested in the street by Mr. S queers, and 
carried to Snawley's house. — XXXIX. John Browdie and his wife, with Miss Squeers, 
arrive in I<ondon, and stop at the Saracen's Head ; Mr. Squeers reports to them the capture 
of Smike; accepting the schoolmaster's invitation to tea at Mr. Snawley's, John Browdie 
feigns sickness, and assists Smike to escape. — XL. Smike finds his way to Newman Noggs, 
and is restored to Nicholas; Nicholas encounters a young lady in the room of Mr. Charles 
Cheeryble, whom he recognizes as the one he met at the intelligence-office, and falls In 
love with her at sight ; Nicholas employs Newman to follow her servant, and find out who 
she is; Newman faithfully performs his trust, and appoints a meeting, on keeping which 
Nicholas finds that his mediator has made a mistake in the lady. — XLI. Mrs. Nickleby 
and Kate, conversing in their garden, are interrupted by the gentleman next door, who pro- 
ceeds to declare his passion for Mrs. Nickleby, when he is arrested by his keeper. — XLII. 
Nicholas takes supper with Mr. and Mrs. John Browdie at the Saracen's Head, and hears 
from John the particulars of Smike's escape from Squeers ; sudden appearance of Miss 
Squeei-s, with her father and brother; her indignation, and her departure with her rela- 
tives. — XLIII. Nicholas first meets Mr. Frank Cheeryble ; Mr. Charles Cheeryble and his 
nephew take tea with the Nicklebj's. — XLIV. Ralph Nickleby learns with contempt that 
Sir Mulberry Hawk has left the country ; Ralph is accosted by a beggar who claims an old 
acquaintance with him ; he refuses to assist him, and threatens him with arrest ; Ralph 
witnesses a falling-out between Mr. and Madame Mantaliai ; returning home, Ralph finds 
Squeers and Snawley, and goes away with them ; Newman Noggs, following, encounters 
a stranger, in whom he becomes greatly interested. — XL V. Mr. and Mrs. John Browdie 
spend a merry evening at the Nicklebys' ; their pleasure is interrupted by the entrance of 
Ralph Nickleby and Squeers, who claim Smike in the name of his father, w.'iom they produce 
in the person of Snawley ; Nicholas refuses to give up Smike ; and Squeers gets some rough 
'reatment from John Browdie. — XLVI. Nicholas, relating the circumstances "to Mr. 
Charles Cheeryble, finds that Ralph has been before him ; Mr. Charles relates to Nicholas 
the history- of the young lady whom he has met, and employs him as his confidential mes- 
senger in communicating with her, and Nicholas makes his first call upon Miss Bray. — 
XLVII. Newman Noggs, concealing himself in a closet in his room, becomes witness to 
an interview between Ralph Nickleby and Arthur Gride, in which the latter details his 
plans for securing Madeline Bray as his bride, and compounds with Ralph for his assistance ; 
they visit Bray, and urge Gride's suit for his daughter's hand. — XLVIII. Nicholas encoun- 
ters Mr. Vincent Crummies, and attends a farewell supper given to that gentleman and 
his family previous to their departure for America; Nicholas discusses the morality of 
a certain class of playTvrights, and takes his final leave of the Crummleses. — XLIX. Mrs. 
Nickleby appropriates to herself the attentions of Mr. Frank Cheeryble; Frank, and Tim 
Linkinwater, drop in at the Nicklebys' ; they are astonished by the entrance, down the 
chimney, of the Gentleman in Small-Clothes ; an abrupt change in his manner towards 
Mrs. Nickleby convinces her of his insanity, of which she thinks herself the cause; Nich- 
olas becomes alarmed at Smike's melancholy. — L. Sir Mulberry Hawk threatens revenge 
on Nicholas, and Lord Frederick remonstrates; a quarrel between thera iu a gambling- 
brothel leads to a duel, in which Lord Verisopht is killed. — LI. Arthur Gride selects his 
wedding-garments; Newman Noggs bears a letter from his master to Gride, and improves 
a good opportunity to acquaint himself with its contents ; Ralph questions Newman about 



Nic|)oUs WfcifelelJS. 153 

Brooker, but without satisfactory result ; Newman informs Nfcholas of the plot between 
Ralph and Gride, by which the latter is to maiTy Madeline Bray ; in the absence of the 
Cheeryble Brothers, Nicholas determines to take upon himself the responsibility of re- 
monstrating with Miss Bray. — LII. Mr. Lillyvick returns to the Kenwigses, relates the 
Btori' of his wife's elopement, and they become friends again. —LIII. Pursuing his pur- 
pose, Nicholas counsels Miss Bray to prevent the approaching marriage ; finding she will 
sacrifice herself for her father's sake, he goes to Gride, and tries threats upon him, but 
without eflect. — LIV. Arthur Gride and Ralph Nickleby go to Mr. Bray's to consum- 
mate the marriage; while waiting for the appearance of Bray and Madeline, they are 
surprised by the entrance of Nicholas and Kate ; sudden death of Mr. Bray ; Nicholas 
accuses Ralph and Gride of their evil designs, threatens them with discovery and punish- 
ment, and takes Madeline under his protection. —LV. Mrs. Nickleby surprises Nicholas 
by informing him of her discovery that Frank Cheeryble has fallen in love with Kate ; 
Snlike becomes very ill, and Nicholas takes him to Devonshire. — LVI. Ralph Nickleby 
and Gride return to the latter's bouse, and find it closed; forcing an entrance, they find 
that Peg Slidcrskew has robbed him of his papers, and absconded; Ralph Nickleby sends 
for Squeers, informs liim of the theft of the papers, and engages him to recover them. — 
LVII. Squeers having found Mrs. Sliderskew, and secured her confidence, proceeds to 
examine the stolen papers ; Frank Cheeryble and Nevnnan Noggs steal in upon them, and 
prevent the destruction of the will. — LVIII. Smike has his fears excited by the apparition 
of the man who first carried him to Dotheboys Hall ; Smike confesses to Nicholas his love 
for Kate, and dies. — LIX. Ralph is surprised by the absence of Newman Noggs, and also by 
the appearance of Mr. Charles Cheeryble, to whom he refuses to listen ; Ralph goes in search 
of Squeers, but does not find him, and then to Gride's, who refases him entrance ; he then 
goes to Cheeryble Brothers', where Newman Noggs confronts him, and tells him how he 
has watched his actions, and overheard his plots ; they also relate to Ralph the discoveries 
they have made in regard to the imposture of Snawley, the occupation of Squeers, his 
arrest, and the implication of Ralph in these villanies : he spurns their counsel, and defies 
them to do the worst. — LX. Ralph visits Squeers at the police-oflBce, learns that the will 
in favor of Madeline Bray has been lost to him, and that Squeers no longer will aid his 
schemes; Tim Linkinwater carries the announcement of a fresh discovery to Ralph, and 
conveys him again to Cheeryble Brothers' counting-room, where they tell him of Sniike's 
death, and confront him with Brooker, who proves to him tliat Smike was his own son. — 
LXI. Nicholas confesses to Kate his love for Madeline, and she informs him that she has 
declined the hand of Frank Cheeryble ; Nicholas also makes known the state of his feel- 
ings to Mr. Charles Cheeryble ; Mr. Cheeryble informs Nicholas of the occurrences of the 
preceding day, and that his uncle has fixed an appointment for a meeting with him. — 
LXII. Ralph Nickleby, when leaving the Cheeryble Brothers, goes home, filled with re- 
morse ; on keeping his appointment, they find him dead, hanged by his own act. — LXIII. 
The Cheeryble Brothers invite the Nicklebys and Miss La Creevy to a dinner, where they 
are surprised to find Frank Cheeiyble and Madeline Bray ; Brother Charles explains toe 
position of Madeline's affairs, and approves her choice of Nicholas, and also the union of 
Frank with Kate; Tim Linkinwater and Miss La Creevy agree to unite their fortunes; 
Newman Noggs appears in a new character. —LXI V. Nicholas and Kate discover jMr. 
Mantaliniin reduced circumstances; Nicholas visits John Browdie in Yorkshire; break- 
ing-up of Dotheboys Hall. — LXV. Conclusion, in which the subsequent history of the 
ebaracters is briefly told. 



&kttt\)t0 of Houng €o\xpks, 

[Published m 1810.] 



THE YOUNG COUPLE. 

Adams, Jane. A housemaid. 

Anne. A housemaid at " No. 6 ; " friend to Jane Adams. 

Fielding", Miss Emma. A young lady about to be married to 

a Mr. Harvey, who is " an angel of a gentleman." 
Harvey, Mr. A young gentleman engaged to IMiss Fielding. 
John, Mr. A servant in the house of Miss Fielding's father. 

THE LOVING COUPLE. 

Leaver, Augustus. ") Two married persons, so tender, so affec- 
Leaver, Augusta. > tionate, so given to the interchange of soft 

endearments, as to be well-nigh intolerable to everybody else. 
Starling, Mrs. A widow-lady enraptured with the affectionate 

behavior of Mr. and Mrs. Leaver, whom she considers a perfect 

model of wedded felicity. 

THE CONTRADICTORY COUPLE. 

Charlotte. ■) A married pair who seem to find a positive pleasure 
Edward. ) in contradiction, and agree in nothing else. 
Charlotte, Miss. Their daughter 
James, Master. Their son. 

THE COUPLE WHO DOTE UPON THEIR CHILDREN. 

Saunders, Mr. A bachelor-friend of the Whifflers. 

Whiffler, Mr. and Mrs. A married pair, whose thoughts at 
all times and in all places are bound up in their children, and have 
no sphere beyond. They relate clever things their offspring say or 
do, and weary every company with their prolixity and absurdity. 
154 



Sfeetcfjes of Young (toupUs, 155 

THE COOL COUPLE. 

Charles. > A husband and wife, well-bred, easy, and careless, who 
Louisa. ) rarely quarrel, but are unsympathizing, and indifferent 
to each other's comfort and happiness. 

THE PLAUSIBLE COUPLE. 

Widger, Mr. Bobtail. "> People of the world, who adapt them- 

Widger, Mrs. Lavinia. ) selves to all its ways, all its twist- 

ings and turnings ; who know when to close their eyes, and when 

their ears ; when to crawl upon their hands and knees ; when to 

stoop ; and when to stand upright. 

THE NICE LITTLE COUPLE. 

Chirrup, Mr. A warm-hearted little fellow, with the smartness, 
and something of the brisk, quick manner, of a small bird. 

Chirrup, Mrs. His wife ; a sprightly little woman, with an amaz- 
ing quantity of goodness and usefulness, — a condensation, indeed, 
of all the domestic virtues. 

THE EGOTISTICAL COUPLE. 

Sliverstone, Mr. A clerical gentleman, who magnifies his wife 
on every possible occasion by launching out into glowing praises of 
her conduct in the production of eight young children, and the sub- 
sequent rearing and fostering of the same. 

Sliverstone, Mrs. His wife; always engaged in praising her 
husband's worth and excellence. 

THE COUPLE WHO CODDLE THEMSELVES. 

Merrywinkle, Mr. and Mrs. A married pair, who have fallen 
into exclusive habits of self-indulgence, and forget their natural 
sympathy and close connection with everybody and every thing in 
the world around them ; thus depriving themselves of the best and 
truest enjoyment. 

Chopper, Mrs, Mother to Mrs. Merrywinkle. 

THE OLD COUPLE. 

A-danas, Jane. An aged servant, who has been nurse and story- 
teller to two generations. 
Crofts. A barber. 



MaBttx §«tnpl)rc8'0 dock. 



Under this title, on the 4th of April, 1840, Mr. Dickens started a miscellany, 
which was to be issued in weekly numbers (at threepence each), as well as in 
monthly parts, and which was to consist of short, detached papers, with occasional 
continuous stories. These were introduced and connected together by means of a 
fiction, describing an old gentleman named Master Humphrey, and a kind of 
club, which meets once a week at his house, in a quaint old room in which there 
is a tall, old-fashioned clock, from the case of which they draw forth piles of 
dusty papers that they themselves have written, and placed there to be read at 
their meetings. The work extended to eighty-eight parts, covering a period of 
nearly two years. It was brought out in the form of an imperial octavo, was ex- 
cellently printed on good paper, and was illustrated with wood-engravings (in- 
stead of etchings on steel) by George Cattermole, "Phiz" (H. K. Browne), 
George Cruikshank, and Daniel Maclise, — the two latter artists, however, furnish- 
ing but one sketch each. 

The public did not take kindly to the machinery of Master Humphrey and his 
friends ; and, to revive their flagging interest, Mr. Pickwick and the two Wellers 
were again brought upon the scene, as was also a third Weller, — a young Tony, — 
who is Sam's son, and a counterpart in miniature of his grandfather. This device 
was successful ; and the work won its way steadily to general favor ; the two 
longer tales contained in it — " The Old Curiosity Shop " and " Barnaby Rudge " — 
being reckoned among the best of the author's novels. But Mr. Dickens con- 
sidered that the connecting fiction of Master Humphrey interfered too much with 
the continuity of the principal stories, and gave the whole work a too desultory 
character. He therefore eventually cancelled the introductory, intercalary, and 
concluding chapters in which this fiction was contained, though on the completion 
ef the eighty-eight parts of which the work consisted, it was issued in three 
volumes, — of which the first appeared in 1840, and the last two in 1841. 

In a letter to " The Daily News," Doctor Charles Rogers gives the following ac- 
count of the origin of the name " Master Humplirey's Clock." " In 1864, in the. 

coorse of a tour, I arrived at the town of Barnard Castle, in the county of Dur- 
156 



faster JD^ump^teg's ©locfe. 157 

ham, late on a winter evening, and put up at the principal hotel. ... At break- 
fast the following morning, I chanced to notice on the opposite side of the street 
a large clock-face with the name ' Humphrey ' surrounding it, most conspicuously 
exhibited in front of a watch and clock maker's shop. ' How odd I ' I exclaimed 
to a gentleman seated beside me : ' here is Master Humphrey's clock ! ' — 'Of 
course,' said the gentleman ; ' and don't you know that Dickens resided here for 
some weeks when he was collecting materials for his Nicholas Mckleby, and 
that he chose his title for his next work by observing that big clock-face from this 
window ? ' After breakfast, I stepped across to the watchmaker, and asked him 
whether I had been correctly informed respecting Mr. Dickens and the clock. 
The worthy horologist entered into particulars. ' My clock,' said he, 'suggested 
to Mr. Dickens the title of his book of that name. I have a letter from him stat- 
ing this, and a copy of the work, inscribed with his own hand. ... I got ac- 
quainted with him by his coming across from the hotel, as you have done this 
morning, and asking me to inform him about the state of the neighboring board- 
ing-schools.'" 



OEARACTERS INTRODUCED, 

Alice, Mistress. Heroine of the tale told by Magog, the Guild- 
hall giant, to his companion, Gog ; the beautiful and only daugh- 
ter of a wealthy London bowyer of the sixteenth century. She 
elopes with a gay young cavalier, by whom she is conveyed abroad, 
where shame and remorse overtake her, and wring her heart. Her 
father, dying, leaves all his property and trade to a trusted 'prentice, 
named Hugh Graham, charging him with his latest breath to re- 
venge his child upon the author of her misery, if ever he has the 
opportunity. Twenty years afterwards, Alice suddenly returns; 
and Master Graham (who was formerly an aspirant for her hand, 
and who still loves her) gives her lodging in his house, — once 
hers, — taking up his own abode in a dwelling near by. Soon 
after, he encounters the man who wrought her ruin. The two 
exchange a few high, hot words, and then close in deadly contest. 
After a brief struggle, the noble falls, pierced through the heart 
with his own sword by the citizen. A riot ensues ; and at last 
Graham is shot dead on his own doorstep. On carrying him up 
stairs, an unknown woman is discovered lying lifeless beneath the 
window. 

H 



158 8r!)e JBfcfeens JBfctionatg. 

Belinda. A distracted damsel, who writes a letter to Master 
Humphrey about her faithless lover. 

Benton, Miss. Master Humphrey's housekeeper. Mr. Weller, 
senior, in a moment of weakness, falls in love with her : but she 
prefers Mr. Slithers the barber ; and the old gentleman, recovering 
his " native hue of resolution," conjures his son Samivel to put 
him in a strait waistcoat until the fit is passed, in the event of his 
ever becoming amorous again. 

Deaf Gentleman, The. An intimate friend of Master Hum- 
phrey's, and a cheerful, placid, happy old man. It is his humor to 
conceal his name, or he has a reason and purpose fordoing so. 
Master Humphrey and the other members of the club respect his 
secret, therefore ; and he is known among them only as the Deaf 
Gentleman. 

Gog. One of the Guildhall giants. See Toddyhigh, Joe. 

Graham, Hugh. A bowyer's 'prentice, in love with his master's 
daughter. See Alice, Mistress. 

Jinkinson. The subject of an anecdote related by Sam Weller. 

Magog. One of the Guildhall giants. See Toddyhigh, Joe. 

Marks, Will. The hero of a tale which Mr. Pickwick submits 
to Master Humphrey and his friends as a " qualification " for ad- 
mission to their club. Will is a wild, roving young fellow, living 
at Windsor in the time of James I. He volunteers to keep 
watch by night at a gibbet near Kingston, for the purpose of 
identifying some witches who have been holding hideous nocturnal 
revels there ; but he finds, instead of witches, two gentlewomen, 
weeping and wailing for an executed husband and brother. He 
suffers himself to be conducted to Putney, where he is introduced 
to a masked cavalier, who induces him to take the body of the 
dead man by night for burial to St. Dunstan's Church in London. 
This task, though a difficult and dangerous one, he performs ; and 
on his return home, finding the whole neighborhood worked up to 
a high pitch of mystery and horror over his disappearance, he 
adds to the excitement by telling them a most extraordinary story 
of his adventures, describing the witches' dance to the minutest 
motion of their legs, and performing it in character on tl.e table 
\» .th the assistance of a broomstick. 

Master Humphrey. A kind-hearted, deformed old gentleman, 
living in an ancient house in a venerable suburb of London. He 
is the founder of a sort of club, which meets in his room one night 



iHaaster 5D^umpt)te2's ©loclt. 159 

in every week, at the hour of ten. In this room are six chairs, 
four of which are filled by Master Humphrey and his friends, — 
Jack Eedburn, Mr. Owen Miles, and the "Deaf Gentleman." 
The two empty seats are reserved until they can fill them with 
two men to their mind ; and Mr. Pickwick eventually becomes the 
occupant of one of them, while Mr. Jack Bamber is proposed as a 
candidate for the other. In a snug corner stands a quaint old 
clock in a huge oaken case curiously and richly carved ; and in the 
bottom of this case the members of the club, from time to time, 
deposit manuscript tales of their own composition, which are taken 
out and read at their weekly meetings. Among these are the two 
well-known stories called " The Old Curiosity Shop " (the second- 
ary title of which, as at first published, was " Personal Adventures 
of Master Humphrey ") and " Barnaby Rudge." Master Hum- 
phrey thus describes himself and his friends : — 

" "We are men of secluded habits, with something of a cloud upon our early 
fortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not cooled with age; whose 
spirit of romance is not yet quenched ; who are content to ramble through the 
world in a pleasant dream, rather than waken again to its harsh realities. We 
are alchemists, who would extract the essence of perpetual youth from dust and 
ashes, tempt coy Truth in many light and airy forms from the bottom of her 
well, and discover one crumb of comfort or one grain of good in the com- 
monest and least-regarded matter that passes through our crucible." 

Miles, Mr Owen. A wealthy retired merchant of sterling char- 
acter ; a great friend and admirer of Jack Redburn. 

Pickwick, Mr. Samuel. The hero of " The Pickwick Papers." 
Reading Master Humphrey's account of himself, his clock, and his 
club, he is seized with a strong desire to become a candidate for 
one of the two vacant chairs in the club, and accordingly furnishes 
a witch-story of the time of James I, as his qualification, which 
procures him the honor. See Marks, Will. 

Mr. Pickwick's face, while his tale was being read, would have attracted 
the attention of the dullest man alive. The complacent motion of his head 
and forefinger as he gently beat time, and corrected the air with imaginary 
punctuation; the smile that mantled on his features at every jocose passage, 
and the sly look he stole around to observe its effect; the calm manner in which 
he shut his eyes and listened when there was some little piece of description ; 
the changing expression with which he acted the dialogue to himself; his agony 
that the Deaf Gentleman should know what it was all about ; and his extraordi- 
nary anxiety to correct the reader when he hesitated at a word in the manu- 
script, or substituted a wrong one, — were alike worthy of remark. And when 
at last, endeavoring to communicate with the Deaf Gentleman by means of the 
finger-alphabet, with which he constructed such words as are unknown in any 



160 8C|)e Bfcfecits JSictionarg. 

civilized or savage language, he took up a slate, and wrote in large text, on€ 
word in a line, the question, How-do-j-ou-like-it ? — when he did this, and, 
handing it over the table, awaited the reply, with a countenance only bright- 
ened and improved by his great excitement, even Mr. Miles relaxed, and could 
not forbear looking at him for the moment with interest and favor. 

Podgers, John. A character in Mr. Pickwick's tale ; a stout, 
drowsy, fat-witted old fellow, held by his neighbors to be a man of 
strong sound sense ; uncle to Will Marks. 

Redburn, Jack. One of Master Humphrey's friends, and his 
factotum. Mr. Miles is his inseparable companion, and regards 
him with great admiration, believing not only that " no man ever 
lived who could do so many things as Jack, but that no man ever 
lived who could do any thing so well." 

Slithers, Mr. Mr. Pickwick's barber; a very bustling, active 
little man, with a red nose and a round bright face. He falls in 
love with Miss Benton, Master Humphrey's housekeeper, and 
finally marries her. 

Toddyhigh, Joe. An old playmate of the lord-mayor elect of 
London. The two had been poor boys together at Hull ; and when 
they separated, and went out into the world in different directions 
to seek their fortunes, they agreed always to remain fast friends. 
But time works many changes ; and so it happens that the lord- 
mayor elect receives his old companion very coldly when he sud- 
denly appears in his counting-room, and claims acquaintance, at a 
late hour on the very night before the grand inauguration. 
Ashamed and distrustful of his old friend, he gets rid of him as 
quickly as possible, giving him, however, a ticket to the grand 
dinner on the morrow. Joe takes it without a word, and instantly 
departs. The next day he goes to Guildhall, but, knowing nobody 
there, lounges about, and at last comes into an empty little music- 
gallery, which commands the whole hall. Sitting down, he soon 
falls asleep ; and when he wakes, as the clock strikes three, he is 
astonished to find the guests departed, and to see the statues of the 
great giants Gog and Magog (the guardian genii of the city) 
endowed with life and motion, and to hear them speak in grave 
and solemn voices, agreeing to while away the dreary nights with 
legends of old London and with other tales ; Magog making a 
beginning by relating the first of the " Giant Chronicles." 

W"eller, Samuel. Mr. Pickwick's body-servant ; " the same true, 
faithful fellow " that he used to be in the days of the Pickwick 
Club, retaining all his native humor too, and all his old easy confi- 



dence. address, and knowledge of the world. See Weller, Tony, 
the elder. 
Weller, Tony, the elder. The old plethoric coachman of " The 
Pickwick Papers ; " father to Sam Weller. When Mr. Pickwick, 
attended by Sam, visits Master Humphrey on club-nights, old Mr. 
Weller accompanies them as part of Mr. Pickwick's body-guard. 
AVhile the members of Master Humphrey's Clock are holding their 
meeting in the study up stairs. Miss Benton the housekeeper, and 
her friend, Mr. Slithers the barber, entertain the two Wellers in 
the kitchen. 

" I don't think," said Sam, who was smoking with great composure and en- 
joyment, '' that, if the lady wos agreeable, it 'ud be wery far out o' the vay for 
us four to make up a club of our OAvn, like the governors does up stairs, and let 
him" — Sam pointed with the stem of his pipe towards his parent — "be the 
president." 

The housekeeper aifably declared that it was the very thing she had been 
thinking of. The barber said the same. Mr. Weller said nothing; but he laid 
down his pipe as if in a fit of inspiration, and performed the following 
manoeuvres : — 

Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat, and pausing, for a 
moment, to enjoy the easy flow of breath consequent upon this process, he laid 
violent hands upon his watch-chain, and slowly, and with extreme diflaculty, 
drew from his fob an immense double-cased silver watch, which brought the 
lining of the pocket with it, and was not to be disentangled but by great exer- 
tions and an amazing redness of face. Having fairly got it out at last, he 
detached the outer case, and wound it up with a key of corresponding magni- 
tude ; then put the case on again, and, having applied the watch to his ear to 
ascertain that it was still going, gave it some half-dozen hard knocks on the 
table to improve its performance. 

"That," said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table, with its face upwards, " is 
the title and emblem o' this here society. Sammy, reach them two stools this 
vay for the wacant cheers. Ladies and gen'lmen, Mr. Weller's Watch is vound 
up, and now a-goin'. Order 1 " 

By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller, using the watch after 
the manner of a president's hammer, and remarking with great pride 
that nothing hurt it, and that falls and concussions of all kinds materi- 
ally enhanced the excellence of the works, and assisted the regulator, 
knocked the table a great many times, and declared the association formally 
constituted. 

The old " whip " presides with great dignity, and observes the 
strictest rules of parliamentary law ; thus, when Sam, in the course 
of some remarks, refers to a class of gentlemen as " barbers," and 
Mr. Slithers rises, and suggests that "hair-dressers" would be 
more "soothing" to his feelings, Mr. Weller rules that "hair* 
dressers " is the only designation proper to be used in the debate, 
and that all others are out of order. 
14* 



162 5n)e Bicttens 23ictionar$. 

" Well, but suppose he was n't a hair-dresser," suggested Sam. 

** Wy then, sir, be parliamentary, and call him vun all the more," returned his 
father. '• In the same vay as ev'ry gen'lman in another place is a yionorable, 
ev'ry barber in this place is a hair-dresser. Yen you read the speeches in the 
papers, and see as vun gen'lman says of another, ' the honorable member, if he 
viil allow me to call him so,' you vill understand, sir, that that means, 'if he 
rill allow me to keep up that 'ere pleasant and uniwersal fiction.' " 

Having taken a decided fancy to IVIiss Benton, but being afraid 
that she is a " wldder," Mr. Weller gets Sam to inquire as to the 
fact. He is told that she is a spinster. 

" A wot ? " said his father with deep scorn. 

" A spinster," replied Sam. 

Mr. Weller looked very hard at his son for a minute or two, and then said, — 

" Never mind vether she makes jokes, or not : that 's no matter. Wot I say Is, 
Is that ere female a widder, or is she not ?" 

'' Wot do you mean by her making jokes ? " demanded Sam, quite aghast at 
the obscurity of his parent's speech. 

" Never you mind, Samivel," returned Mr. Weller gravely. " Puns may be 
wery good things, or they may be wery bad 'uns, and a female may be none the 
better, or she may be none the vurse, for making of 'em : that 's got nothing to 
do vith widders." 

" Wy, now ! " said Sam, looking round, " would anybody believe as a man at 
his time o' life could be running his head agin spinsters and punsters being the 
same thing ? " 

" There an't a straw's difference between 'em," said Mr. Weller. " Your 
father did n't drive a coach for so many years, not to be ekal to his own lang- 
vidge, as far as that goes, Sammy." 

Mr. Weller insists upon the two words being synonymous, but is 
finally assured that Miss Benton is not a widow, which gives him 
great satisfaction. 

Weller, Tony, the younger. A son of Sam Weller; named for 
his grandfather. He is a very small boy, about two feet six from 
the ground, having a very round face strongly resembling Mr. 
Weller's, and a stout little body of exactly his build, firmly set 
upon a couple of very sturdy legs. When Mr. Weller is first intro- 
duced to Master Humphrey, he immediately goes off, as he always 
does, into praises of his namesake. 

" Samivel Weller, sir," said the old gentleman, '* has con-ferred upon me the 
ancient title o' grandfather, vich had long laid dormouse, and wos s'posed to be 
nearly hex-tin ct in our family. Sammy, relate a anecdote o' vun o' them boys, 
— that 'ere little anecdote about young Tony sayin' as he vould smoke a pipe 
unbeknown to his mother." 

" Be quiet I can't you ? " said Sam. " I never see such a old magpie, — never ! " 

" That 'ere Tony is the blessedest boy," said Mr. Weller, heedless of this re- 

buflf, — " the blessedest boy as ever I see in my days I Of all the charmin'est as 

ever I heerd tell on, includin' them as wos kivered over by the robin redbreasts, 

arter they 'd committed sooicide, with blackberries, there never wos any like that 



iWaster J^umpSreg's ©locft. 163 

ere little Tony. He's always a-playin' with a quart pot— that boy is. To see 
him a-settin' down on the doorstep, pretending to drink out of it, and fetching a 
long breath artervards, and smoking a bit of fire-vood, and sayin', < Now I 'm 
grandfather,' — to see him a-doin' that at two year old is better than any play as 
wos ever wrote. 'Now I'm grandfather!' He would n't take a pint pot if you 
wos to make him a present on it; but he gets his quart; and then he says, * Now 
I'm grandfather!'" 

]tfr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture, that he straightway fell into 
a most alarming fit of coughing, which must certainly have been attended with 
some fatal result but for the dexterity and promptitude of Sam, who, taking a 
firm grasp of the shawl just under his father's chin, shook him to and fro with 
great violence, at the same time administering some smart blows between his 
shoulders. By this curious mode of treatment, Mr. Weller was finally recovered, 
but with a very crimson face, and in a state of great exhaustion. 



®l)c (SMb €urto0itB ^^oy. 



This story originally appeared in the serial miscellany called " Master Hum- 
phrey's Clock,"— the first chapter in the fourth number. It is supposed to be nar- 
rated by Master Humphrey (who figures as the Single Gentleman, the brother of 
Little Nell's grandfather), and, as at first published, it bore the sub-title, " Per- 
sonal Adventures of Master Humphrey." 

The author says of this tale, " The many friends it won me, and the many 
hearts it turned to me when they were full of private sorrow, invest it with an 
interest in my mind which is not a public one, and the rightful place of which 
appears to be * a more removed ground.' I will merely observe, therefore, that, 
in writing the book, I had it always in my fancy to surround the lonely figure 
of the child [Little Nell] with grotesque and wild, but not impossible compan- 
ions, and to gather about her innocent face and pure intentions associates as 
strange and uncongenial as the grim objects that are about her bed when her his- 
tory is first foreshadowed." 



CHARAQTERS INTROBUOED. 

Bachelor, The. A kind old gentleman at a village where Little 

Nell and her grandfather stay in the course of their wanderings. 

None of the villagers had cared to ask his name, or, when they knew it, to 
store it in their memories; perhaps because he was unmarried he had been 
called the Bachelor. The name pleased him, or suited him as well as any oth- 
er ; and so the Bachelor he had ever since remained. 

(Ch. lii, liv, Iv, Ixi, Ixviii, Ixix, Ixxxiii.) 

Barbara. A housemaid at Mrs. Garland's ; afterwards the wife of 
Kit Nubbles. (Ch. xxii, xxxviii-xl, Ixviii, Ixix, Ixxiii.) See Nub- 
bles, Kit. 

Barbara's Mother. (Ch. xxxix, xl, Ixi, Ixviii, Ixix, Ixxiii.) 

161 



Brass, Sally. Sister and partner of Sampson Brass. 

In face she bore a striking resemblance to her brother Sampson. So exact., in- 
deed was the l^eness between them, that had it consorted with Miss Brass's 
mafdermodesty and gentle womanhood to have assumed ^^l^X^^^'fl^^^^ 
a frolic, and sat down beside him, it would have been difficult for the oldest 
friend of the family to determine which was Sampson, and which Sally, es- 
necially as the lady carried upon her upper lip certain reddish demonstrations, 
which, if the imagination had been assisted by her attire, might have been mis- 
Taken for a beard These were, however, in all probability, nothing more than 
eyelashes in a wrong place, as the eyes of Miss Brass were ^ee, quite, from 
any such natural impertinences. In complexion Miss Brass was «alow rather 
a dirty sallow, so to speak) ; but this hue was agreeably reheved by the healthy 
glow which mantled in the extreme tip of her laughing nose. Her voice was 
exceedingly impressive, deep and rich in quality, and, once heard, not easily 
for-^otten. ... In mind she was of a strong and vigorous turn, having from 
her" earliest youth devoted herself with uncommon ardor to the study of the 
law not wasting her speculations upon its eagle flights, which are rare, but 
tracing it attentively through all the slippery and eel-like crawlings in which 
it commonly pursues its way. . . . Whether she had steeled her heart against 
mankind, or whether those who might have wooed and won her were deterred 
by fears, that, being learned in the law, she might have too near her fingers 
ends those particular statutes which regulate what are familiarly termed ac- 
tions for breach, certain it is that she was still in a state of celibacy, and still 
in daily occupation of her old stool, opposite to that of her brother Sampson. 
And equally certain it is, by the way, that, between these two stools, a great 
many people had come to the ground. 
(Ch. xxxiii-xxxviii, li, Ivi, Iviii-lx, Ixiii-lxvii, Ixxiii.) 
Brass, Sampson. A villanous attorney of Bevis Marks, with a 
cringing manner and a very harsh voice; Quilp's legal adviser. 
He is a°tall, meagre man, with a nose Uke a wen, a protruding fore- 
head, retreating eyes, and hair of a deep red. (Ch. xi-xiii, xxxiii, 
XXXV, xxxvii, xxxviii, xlix, li, Ivi-lx, Ixii-lxiv, Lxvi, Ixvii, Ixxxiii.) 
CheggS, Mr. A market-gardener ; a rival of Mr. Swiveller's for 
the hand of Sophy Wackles, whom he finally marries. (Ch. viii.) 

See SWIVELLER. 

CheggS, Miss. His sister. (Ch. viii.) 

Chuckster, Mr. Clerk in the office of Witherden the notary ; a 

member of the Lodge of Glorious Apollos, and a mortal enemy of 

Kit Nubbles. (Ch. xiv, xx, xxxviii, xl, Ivi, Ix, Ixv, Ixix, Ixxiii.) 
Clergyman, The. A very kind pastor at the village where Nell 

and her grandfather stay for a time. (Ch. Hi, Ixxiii.) See Trent, 

Little Nell. 
Codlin, Tom. One of the Punch-and-Judy showmen with whom 

Little Nell and her grandfather travel for a few days. (Ch. xvi- 

xix, xxvii, Ixxiii.) 



IQQ 2Ei)e ©fcfeens IBCctConarg. 

David, Old. Assistant to the old sexton in the village where 

Little Nell dies. (Ch. liv.) 
Edwards, Miss. A pupil at Miss Monflathers's educational es- 
tablishment. (Ch. xxxi, xxxii.) 
Evans, Richard. One of Mr. Marton's pupils. (Ch. lii.) 
Garland, Mr. A Uttle, fat, placid-faced, and very kind-hearted 

old o-entleman, with whom Kit Nubbles lives after he leaves Little 

Nell. (Ch. xiv, xx, xxii, xxxviii-xl, Ix, Ixvii-lxx, Ixxii.) See p. 543. 
Garland, Mrs. His wife ; a little old lady, plump and placid, like 

himself. (Ch. xiv, xx, xxii, xxxviii-xl, Ixvii-lxix, Ixxiii.) 
Garland, Mr. Abel. Their son, articled to Mr. Witherden the 

notary, whose partner he afterwards becomes. (Ch. xiv, xx, 

xxxviii-xli, Ix, Ixv, Ixvii-lxLx, Ixxiii.) 
George. Driver of Mrs. Jarley's caravan ; afterwards her husband. 

(Ch. xxvi, xxviii, xlvii.) 
George, Mrs. A neighbor and friend of Mrs. Quilp's. (Ch. iv.) 
Grandfather, Little Nell's. Proprietor of the Old Curiosity 

Shop. The history of his life before the time when the story 

opens is thus sketched : — 

*' There were once two brothers, who loved each other dearly. There was a 
disparity in their ages, — some twelve years. . . . "Wide as the interval between 
them was, however, they became rivals too soon. The deepest and strongest 
affection of both their hearts settled upon one object. 

"The youngest-:- there were reasons for his being sensitive and watchful — 
was the first to find this out. I will not tell you what misery he underwent, 
what agony of soul he knew, how great his mental struggle was. . . . He left 
his brother to be happy. The truth never passed his lips; and he quitted the 
country, hoping to die abroad. 

" The elder brother married her. She was in heaven before long, and left 
him with an infant daughter. . . . 

*< In this daughter the mother lived again. You may judge with what devo- 
tion he who lost that mother, almost in the winning, clung to this girl, her 
breathing image. She grew to womanhood, and gave her heart to one who 
could not know its worth. Weill Her fond father could not see her pine and 
droop. He might be more deserving than he thought him. He surely might 
become so with a wife like her. He joined their hands, and they were married. 

" Through all the misery that followed this union, through all the cold neg- 
lect and undeserved reproach, through all the poverty he brought upon her, 
through all the struggles of their daily life, too mean and pitiful to tell, but 
dreadful to endure, she toiled on in the deep devotion of her spirit, and in her 
better nature, as only woman can. Her means and substance wasted, her father 
nearly beggared by her husband's hand, and the hourly witness (for they lived 
now under one roof) of her ill usage and unhappiness, she never, but for him, 
bewailed her fate. Patient, and upheld by strong aflTection to the last, she died 
a widow of some three weeks' date, leaving to her father's care two orphans, — 
one a son of ten or twelve years old; the other a girl, such another infant child 



©llf ©urfosftg 5b!)op. 167 

(the same in helplessness, in age, in form, in feature) as she had been herself 
when her young mother died. 

"The elder brother, grandfather to these two children, was now a broken 
man, crushed and borne down less by the weight of years than by the hand of 
Borrow. With the wreck of his possessions he began to trade, — in pictures first, 
and then in curious ancient things. He had entertained a fondness for such 
matters from a boy ; and the tastes he had cultivated were now to yield him an 
anxious and precarious subsistence. 

" The boy grew like his father in mind and person ; the girl so like her mother, 
that when the old man had her on his knee, and looked into her mUd blue eyes, 
he felt as if awaking from a wretched dream, and his daughter were a little child 
again. The wayward boy soon spurned the shelter of his roof, and sought asso- 
ciates more congenial to his taste. The old man and the child dwelt alone to- 
gether. 

" It was then, when the love of two dead people who had been nearest and 
dearest to his heart was all transferred to this slight creature; when her face, 
constantly before him, reminded him from hour to hour of the too early change 
he had seen in such another, of all the suffering he had watched and known, 
and all his child had undergone ; when the young man's profligate and hardened 
course drained him of money, as his father's had, and even sometimes occasioned 
them temporary privation and distress, — it was then that there began to beset 
him, and to' be ever in his mind, a gloomy dread of poverty and want. He had no 
thought for himself in this. His fear was for the chUd. It was a spectre in his 
house, and haunted him night and day." 

Possessed by this overmastering desire to provide for his grand- 
daughter, he is drawn to the gaming-table, and tries his luck again and 
again, until at last he becomes — for her sake — a confirmed gambler. 
Losing heavily and constantly, but confident that fortune will finally 
favor him, he borrows money from Quilp, a rich dwarf, pledging his 
little stock as security for the debt. His resources, however, are soon 
all exhausted, his shop and its contents taken on execution, and he 
himself is thrown upon the world, a beggar, shattered in intellect, and 
tottering on the verge of the grave. Little Nell leads him away 
from London ; and they wander together through the country. But 
the passion for play only slumbers in him, and is ready to awake 
with the first opportunity that offers. But in the seclusion of a quiet 
village, where they at last find a home, such temptation no longer 
comes ; and his hopes and fears, and all his thoughts, are turned to the 
gentle object of his love, who soon begins to sink under the effects 
of her past trials and sufferings. Meantime, — 

" The younger brother had been a traveller in many countries, and had made his 
pilgrimage through life alone. His voluntary banishment had been misconstrued, 
and he had borne (not without pain) reproach and slight for doing that which 
had wrung his heart, and cast a mournful shadow on his path. Apart from this, 
communication between him and the elder was difficult and uncertain, and often 
failed: still it was not so wholly broken off but that he learned — with long blanks 
and gaps between each interval of information — all that I have told you now. 



168 ©11)^ UBictzns ISictionars. 

" Then dreams of their young, happy life — happy to him, though laden with 
pain and early care — visited his pillow yet oftener than before ; and every night, 
a boy again, he was at his brother's side. With the utmost speed he could exert 
he settled his affairs ; converted into money all the goods he had, and with hon- 
orable wealth enough for both, with open heart and hand, with limbs that trem- 
bled as they bore him on,, with emotion such as men can hardly bear and live, 
arrived one evening at his brother's door.'' 

When, by dint of such inquu-ies as the utmost vigilance and sa- 
gacity could set on foot, he at last discovers the place of the wander- 
ers' retreat, it is only to find Little Nell dead, and her grandfather a 
mere wreck. Even Kit Nubbles, his old servant, who accompanies 
the younger brother, has no power to move him. 

" Where is she ? " demanded Kit. " Oh, tell me but that, but that, dear master I " 

" She is asleep — yonder — in there." 

" Thank God I " 

*'AyI Thank God I" returned the old man. "I have prayed to him many 
and many and many a livelong night, when she has been asleep. He knows. 
Hark I Did she caU ? " 

" I heard no voice." 

" You did. You hear her now. Do you tell me that you don't hear that 7 " 

He started up, and listened again. 

" Nor that ? " he cried with a triumphant smile. " Can anybody know that 
voice so well as I ? Hush, hush ! " 

Motioning to him to be silent, he stole away into another chamber. After a 
short absence (during which he could be heard to speak in a softened, soothing 
tone) he returned, bearing in his hand a lamp. 

" She is still asleep," he whispered. '' You were right. She did not call, un- 
less she did so in her slumber. She has called to me in her sleep before now, sir. 
As I have sat by, watching, I have seen her lips move, and have known, though 
no sound came from them, that she spoke of me. I feared the light might dazzle 
her eyes, and wake her : so I brought it here." 

He spoke rather to himself than to the visitor ; but, when he had put the lamp 
upon the table, he took it up, as if impelled by some momentary recollection or 
curiosity, and held it near his face. Then, as if forgetting his motive in the very 
action, he turned away, and put it down again. 

''She is sleeping soundly," he said; "but no wonder. Angel-hands have 
strewn the ground deep with snow, that the lightest footstep may be lighter yet; 
and the very birds are dead, that they may not wake her. She used to feed them, 
sir. Though never so cold and hungry, the timid things would fly from us : they 
never flew from her I " 

Again he stopped to listen, and, scarcely drawing breath, listened for a long, 
long time. That fancy past, he opened an old chest, took out some clothes as 
fondly as if they had been living things, and began to smooth and brush them 
with his hand. 

" Why dost thou lie so idle there, dear Nell," he murmured, " when there are 
oright red berries out of doors, waiting for thee to pluck them ? Why dost thou 
lie so idle there, when thy little friends come creeping to the door, crying, ' Where 
is Nell, sweet Nell?' and sob and weep because they do not see thee. She was 
always gentle with children. The wildest would do her bidding : she had a tender 
w&y with them; indeed she had." 



©Ill ©uriosits S!)op. 169 

Kit, had 110 power to speak. His eyes were filled with tears. 

''Her little homely dress, her favorite 1" cried the old man, pressing it to his 
breast, and patting it with his shrivelled hand. " She will miss it Avhen she 
wakes. They have hid it here in sport. But she shall have it; she shall have it I 
I would not vex my darling for the wide world's riches. See here, these shoes — 
how worn they are I She kept them to remind her of our last long journey. You 
see where the little feet went bare upon the ground. They told me afterwards 
that the stones had cut and bruised them. She never told me that. No, no, God 
bless her I And I have remembered since, she walked behind me, sir, that I might 
not see how lame she was; but yet she had my hand in hers, and seemed to lead 
me still." 

By little and little the old man had drawn back towards the inner chamber 
while these words were spoken. He pointed there, as he replied with trembling 
lips,— 

" You plot among you to wean my heart from her. You never will do that! 
never, while I have life I I have no relative or friend but her : I never had : I 
never will have I She is all in all to me. It is too late to part us now I " 

Waving them off with his hand, and calling softly to her as he went, he stole 
into the room. They who were left behind drew close together, and after a few 
whispered words, not unbroken by emotion, or easily uttered, followed him. 
They moved so gently, that their footsteps made no noise ; but there were sobs 
from among the group, and sounds of grief and mourning. 

For she was dead. There upon her little bed she lay at rest. The solemn 
stillness was no marvel now. 

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so 
fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and wait- 
ing for the breath of life; not one who had lived, and suffered death. 

Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter-berries and green 
leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. " When I die, put near 
me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always.'' Those 
were her Avords. 

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird, a 
poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed, was stirring nimbly 
in its cage; and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless 
forever. 

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues ? All 
gone. Sorrow was dead indeed in her; but peace and perfect happiness were 
born, imaged in her tranquil beauty and jprofound repose. 

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. The old 
fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face: it had passed, like a dream, 
through haunts of misery and care. At the door of the poor schoolmaster on the 
summer evening, before the furnace-fire upon the cold wet night, at the still bed- 
side of the dying-boy, there had been the same mild, lovely look. So shall we 
know the angels in their majesty after death. 

The old man held one languid arm in his, and had the small hand tight folded 
to his breast for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out to him with 
her last smile ; the hand that led him on through all their wanderings. Ever 
and anon he pressed it to his lips ; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring 
that it was warmer now; and as he said it he looked in agony to those who 
stood around, as if imploring them to help her. 

She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms she had 
15 



170 8r|)e 2Bfcfeens IBfcttonacg. 

seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast, the garden she had 
tended, the eyes she had gladdened, the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtful 
hour, the paths she had trodden as it were but yesterday, could know her nerer- 
more. 

" It is not," said the schoolmaster as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, 
and gave his tears free vent, — " it is not on earth that Heaven's justice ends. 
Think what earth is compared with the world to which her young spirit has 
winged its early flight; and say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms 
above this bed could call her back to life, which of us would utter it ? " 

, They then take the old man out while Little Nell is removed to 
the churchyard ; but, upon his return, he repairs straight to her 
chamber. 

Not finding what he had left there, he returned with distracted looks to the 
room in which they were assembled. From that he rushed into the school-mas- 
ter's cottage, calling her name. They followed close upon him, and, when he 
had vainly searched it, brought him home. 

With such persuasive words as pity and aflfection could suggest, they prevailed 
upon him to sit among them, and hear what they should tell him. Then endeav- 
oring by every little artifice to prepare his mind for what must come, and dwell- 
ing with many fervent words upon the happy lot to which she had been removed, 
they told him, at last, the truth. The moment it had passed their lips, he fell 
down among them like a murdered man. 

For many hours they had little hope of his surviving; but grief is strong, and 
he recovered. 

If there be any who have never known the blank that follows death, the weary 
void, the sense of desolation that will come upon the strongest minds when 
something familiar and beloved is missed at every turn, the connection between 
inanimate and senseless things and the object of recollection, when every house- 
hold god becomes a monument, and every room a grave, — if there be any who 
have not known this, and proved it by their own experience, they can never 
faintly guess how, for many days, the old man pined, and moped away the time, 
and wandered here and there as seeking something, and had no comfort. 

Whatever power of thought or memory he retained was all bound up in her. 
He never understood, or seemed to care to understand, about his brother. To 
every endearment and attention he continued listless. If they spoke to him of 
this, or any other theme, — save one, — he would hear them patiently for a whUe, 
then turn away, and go on seeking as before. 

On that one theme, which was in his and all their minds, it was impossible to 
touch. Deadl He could not hear or bear the word. The slightest hint of it 
would throw him into a paroxysm like that he had had when it was first spoken. 
In what hope he lived no man could tell ; but that he had some hope of finding 
her again — some faint and shadowy hope, deferred from day to day, and making 
him from day to day more sick and sore at heart — was plain to all. 

They bethought them of a removal from the scene of this last sorrow, of try- 
ing whether change of place would rouse or cheer him. His brother sought the 
advice of those who were accounted skUful in such matters ; and they came and 
saw him. Some of the number staid upon the spot, conversed with him wher he 
would converse, and watched him as he wandered up and down, alone and silent. 
Move him where they might, they said, he would ever seek to get back there. 
His mind would run upon that spot. If they confined him closely, and kept a strict 



<©llr Curfosftg <S$op. 171 

guard upon him, they might hold him prisoner ; but, if he could by any means 
escape, he would surely wander back to that place, or die upon the road. . . . 

At length they found, one day, that he had risen early, and with his knapsack 
on his back, his staff in hand, her own straw hat, and little basket full of such 
things as she had been used to carry, was gone. As they were making ready to 
pursue him far and wide, a frightened schoolboy came, who had seen him but a 
moment before sitting in the church, — upon her grave, he said. 

They hastened there, and, going softly to the door, espied him in the attitude 
of one who waited patiently. They did not disturb him then, but kept a watch 
upon him all that day. "When it grew quite dark, he rose and returned home, 
■ and went to bed, murmuring to himself, " She will come tomorrow." 

Upon the morrow he was there again from sunrise until night; and still at 
night he laid him down to rest, and murmured, " She will come to-morrow." 

And thenceforth, every day, and all day long, he waited at her grave for her. 
How many pictures of new journeys over pleasant country, of resting-places 
under the free broad sky, of rambles in the fields and woods, and paths not often 
trodden; how many tones of that one well-remembered voice; how many 
glimpses of the form, the fluttering dress, the hair that waved so gayly in the 
wind; how many visions of what had been, and what he hoped was yet to be — 
rose up before him in the old, dull, silent church I He never told them what he 
thought or where he went. He would sit with them at night, pondering with a 
secret satisfaction they could see upon the flight that he and she would take 
before night came again; and still they would hear him whisper in his prayers, 
" Lord I let her come to-morrow." 

The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at the usual 
hour, and they went to seek him. He was lying dead upon the stone. 

They laid him by the side of her whom he had loved so well ; and, in the 
church where they had often prayed and mused and lingered hand in hand, the 
child and the old man slept together. 

(Cli. i-iii, Ix, xi, xii, xv-xix, xxiv-xxxii, xlii-xlvi, Hi, liv, Iv, Ixxi, 
Ixxii.) See Trent, Little Nell. 

Grrinder, Mr. A showman. (Cb. xvii.) 

Groves, James. Landlord of The Valiant Soldier inn. (Ch. 
xxix, Ixxiii.) 

Harris, Mr., alias Short Trotters, hut commonhj called either 
Short or Trotters. One of the showmen with whom Little Nell 
and her grandfather travel for a few days. (Ch. xvi-xix, xxvii, Ixxiii.) 

Harry. A schoolboy; Mr. Marton's favorite pupil. (Ch. xxiv, 

XXV.) 

Jarley, Mrs. Proprietor of " Jarley's Wax Work." Little Nell is 
engaged by this lady to point out the figures to visitors. (Ch. 
xxvi-xxix, xxxi, xxxii, xlvii, Ixxiii.) 

Jerry. Proprietor of a troop of dancing-dogs. (Ch. xvii, xix, 
xxxvii.) 

Jiniwin, Mrs. The mother of Mrs. Quilp, with whom she lives, 
and with whose husband she wages perpetual war, though she 



172 2r|)e 23(cltens Wictionnv^, 

stands in no slight dread of him. (Ch. iv-vi, xxiii, xlix, 1, Ixxiii.) 
See QuiLP, Daniel. 

Jowl, Joe. A gambler, who tempts Little Nell's grandfather to 
rob Mrs. Jarley. (Ch. xxix, xlii, Ixxiii.) 

List, Isaac. A gambler and knave. (Ch. xxix, xxx, xlii, Ixxiii.) 

Marchioness, The. A name given to the small servant at Sampson 
Brass's, by Dick Swiveller, who marries her. (Ch. xxxiv-xxxvi, 
11, Ivii, Iviii, Ixiv-lxvi, Ixxiii.) See Swiveller, Dick ; also. p. 543. 

Marton, Mr, An old schoolmaster who befriends Little Nell and 
her grandfather. (Ch. xxiv-xxvi, xlv, xlvi, lii-liv, Ixxi, Ixxiii.) 

Monflathers, Miss. Principal of a select boarding-school for 
young ladies. (Ch. xxxi.) 

Nubbles, Christopher or Kit. A shock-headed, shambling, 
awkward lad, with an uncommonly wide mouth, very red cheeks, a 
turned-up nose, and a peculiarly comical expression of face. He is 
very much attached to Little Nell, whose grandfather employs him 
as an errand-boy. After a while, however, the old man takes it 
into his head that Kit has told of his gamblinoj-habits, and that ' 
this is the reason why he cannot succeed in borrowing any more' 
money. He therefore forbids his ever coming into his presence 
again. After the disappearance of his old master. Kit gets employ- 
ment in the family of a kind old gentleman named Garland. At 
length he falls into trouble, being falsely accused of larceny, and 
is arrested, and thrown into prison ; but his innocence is soon estab- 
lished, and he is set at liberty. He afterwards marries Barbara, 
Mrs. Garland's servant. (Ch. i, iii, vi, x, xi, xiii, xiv, xx-xxii, 
xxxviii-xli, xlviii, Ivi-lxi, Ixlii, Ixiv, Ixviii-lxxii.) 

" Kit Nubbles ... is a pertinent example, among numerous others, of this searching 
humanity of Dickens. Here is a boy, rough, uneducated, ill-favored, the son of a washer- 
woman, the very opposite of a common novelist's idea of the interesting, with a name 
which at once suggests the ludicrous ; yet, as enveloped in the loving humor of Dickens, 
he becomes a person of more engrossing interest and afifection than a thousand of the 
stereotyped heroes of fiction. 

" We not only like him, but the whole family, — Mrs. Nubbles, Jacob, the baby, and 
all ; and yet nothing is overcharged in the description, and every circumstance calcu- 
lated to make Kit an object for laughter is freely used." —E. P. Whipple. 

Nubbles, Jacob. Brother to Kit. (Ch. x, xiii, xxi, xxii, xxxix, 
xli, Ixi, Ixix, Ixxii.) 

Nubbles, Mrs. Mother to Kit Nubbles ; a poor but industrious 
widow, very pious, and very constant in her attendance at a dissent- 
ing chapel called Little Bethel. When the Single Gentleman at 
last gains tidings of Little Nell and her grandfather, he desires Mi's. 



©in ©utiositg Si)op. 173 

Nubbles, as being an acquaintance of Nell's, and a kind and moth- 
erly person, to accompany him for the purpose of bringing the 
wanderers back. There being urgent need of haste in the matter, 
Kit is despatched for his mother. He does not find her at home, 
however, and feeling sure that she must, therefore, be at chapel, he 
takes his way to Little Bethel. 

It was not very easy to procure direction to the fold in question, as none of 
the neighbors were of the flock that resorted thither, and few knew any thing 
more of it than the name. At last, a gossip of Mrs. Nubbles's, who had accom- 
panied her to chapel on one or two occasions, when a comfortable cup of tea 
had preceded her devotions, furnished the needful information; which Kit had 
no sooner obtained than he started off again. 

Little Bethel might have been nearer, and might have been in a straighter 
road, though, in that case, the reverend gentleman who presided over its congre- 
gation would have lost his favorite allusion to the crooked ways by which it was 
approached, and which enabled him to liken it to paradise itself, in contradis- 
tinction to the parish church, and the broad thoroughfare leading thereunto. 
Kit found it at last, after some trouble, and pausing at the door to take breath, 
that he might enter with becoming decency, passed into the chapel. 

It was not badly named in one respect, being, in truth, a particularly little 
Bethel, — a Bethel of the smallest dimensions, — with a small number of small 
pews, and a small pulpit in which a small gentleman (by trade a shoemaker, and 
by calling a divine) was delivering in a by no means small voice a by no means 
small sermon, judging of its dimensions by the condition of his audience, which, 
if their gross amount were but small, comprised a still smaller number of hearers, 
as the majority were slumbering. 

Among these was Kit's mother, who, finding it matter of extreme difl5culty to 
keep her eyes open after the fatigues of last night, and feeling their inclination to 
doze strongly backed and seconded by the arguments of the preacher, had yielded 
to the drowsiness that overpowered her, and fallen asleep ; though not so soundly 
but that she could from time to time utter a slight and almost inaudible groan, as 
if in recognition of the orator's doctrines. The baby in her arms was as fast 
asleep as she ; and little Jacob, whose youth prevented him from recognizing in 
this prolonged spiritual nourishment anything half as interesting as oysters, was 
alternately very fast asleep and very wide awake, as his inclination to slumber, 
or his terror of being personally alluded to in the discourse, gained the mastery 
over him. 

" And now I 'm here," thought Kit, gliding into the nearest pew, which was op- 
posite his mother's, and on the other side of the little aisle, " how am I ever to get 
at her, or persuade her to come out ? I might as well be twenty miles off. She '11 
never wake till it 's aU over; and there goes the clock again I Ifhe would but 
leave off for a minute, or if they 'd only sing I " — 

But there was little encouragement to believe that either event would happen 
for a couple of hours to come. The preacher went on telling them what he meant 
to convince them of before he had done; and it was clear, that if he only kept to 
one half of his promises, and forgot the other, he was good for that time, at 
least. 

In his desperation and restlessness Kit cast his eyes about the chapel, and, hap- 
pening to let them fall upon a little seat in front of the clerk's desk, could scarcely 
believe them when they showed him — QuilpI 
16* 



174 SN 33icfeens iSictfonarfi. 

He rubbed them twice or thrice ; but still they insisted that Quilp was there : and 
there, indeed, he was, sitting with his hands upon his knees, and his hat between 
them on a little wooden bracket, with the accustomed grin on his dirty face, and 
his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. He certainly did not glance at Kit or at his 
mother, and appeared utterly unconscious of their presence ; still Kit could not 
help feeling, directly, that the attention of the sly little fiend was fastened upon 
them, and upon nothing else. 

But astounded as he was by the apparition of the dwarf among the Little 
Bethelites, and not free from a misgiving that it was the forerunner of some 
trouble or annoyance, he was compelled to subdue his wonder, and to take active 
measures for the withdrawal of his parent, as the evening was now creeping on, 
and the matter grew serious. Therefore, the next time little Jacob woke, Kit set 
himself to attract his wandering attention ; and, this not being a very difficult 
task (one sneeze effected it), he signed to him to rouse his mother. 

ni-luck would have it, however, that, just then, the preacher, in a forcible ex- 
position of one head of his discourse, leaned over upon the pulpit-desk, so that 
very little more of him than his legs remained inside, and while he made vehe- 
ment gestures with his right hand, and held on with his left, stared, or seemed to 
stare, straight into little Jacob's eyes, threatening him by his strained look and 
attitude (so it appeared to the child), that, if he so much as moved a muscle, he, 
the preacher, would be literally, and not figuratively, " down upon him " that in- 
stant. In this fearful state of things, distracted by the sudden appearance of Kit, 
and fascinated by the eyes of the preacher, the miserable Jacob sat bolt upright, 
wholly incapable of motion, strongly disposed to cry, but afraid to do so, and re- 
turning his pastor's gaze until his infant eyes seemed starting from their 
sockets. 

'• If I must do it openly, I must," thought Kit. "With that he walked softly out 
of his pew, and into his mother's, and, as Mr. Swiveller would have observed if he 
had been present, " collared " the baby without speaking a word. 

" Hush, mother 1 " whispered Kit. " Come along with me : I 've got something 
to tell you." 

" Where am I ? " said Mrs. Nubbles. 

*' In this blessed Little Bethel," returned her son peevishly. 

''Blessed indeed 1" cried Mrs. Nubbles, catching at the word. "O Christo- 
pher, how have I been edified this night I " 

" Yes, yes, I know," said Kit hastily. " But come along, mother : everybody 'a 
looking at us. Don't make a noise ; bring Jacob ; that 's right I " 

" Stay, Satan, stay I " cried the preacher as Kit was moving off. 

" The gentleman says you 're to stay, Christopher," whispered his mother. 

" Stay, Satan, stay I " roared the preacher again. " Tempt not the woman that 
doth incline her ear to thee, but hearken to the voice of him that calleth. He hath 
a lamb from the fold I " cried the preacher, raising his voice still higher, and 
pointing to the baby. " He beareth ofif a lamb, a precious lamb I He-goeth about 
like a wolf in the night-season, and inveigleth the tender lambs I " 

Kit was the best-tempered fellow in the world, but considering this strong 
language, and being somewhat excited by the circumstances in which he waa 
placed, he faced round on the pulpit with the baby in his arms, and replied 
aloud, — 

•' No ; I don't. He 's my brother I " 

" He 's my brother ! " cried the preacher. , 

" He is n't," said Kit indignantly. " How can you say such a thing ? And don't 
sail me names, if you please : what harm have I done ? I should n't have come 




QUILP, MRS. QUILP, AND MRS. JINIWIN. 



^in <S:nxiti»lts S|)op. 175 

to take 'em away unless I was obliged : you may depend upon that. I wanted to 
do it very quiet; but you would n't let me. Now, you have the goodness to 
abuse Satan and them as much as you like, sir, and to let me alone, if you 
please." 

So saying, Kit marched out of the chapel, followed by his mother and little 
Jacob, and found himself in the open air, with an indistinct recollection of hav- 
ing seen the people wake up, and look surprised, and of Quilp having remained, 
throughout the interruption, in his old attitude, without moving his eyes from 
the ceiling, or appearing to take the smallest notice of any thing that passed. 

(Ch. X, xiii, xxi, xxii, xxxix, xli, xlvii, xlviii, Ixi, Ixiii, Ixix, Ixxii.) 
Owen, John. A schoolboy ; one of Mr. Marton's pupils. (Ch. lii.) 
Quilp, Daniel. A hideous creature, full of ferocity and cunning. 

He is described as, — 

An elderly man, of remarkably hard features and forbidding aspect, and 
so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf ; though his head and face were 
large enough for the body of a giant. His black eyes were restless, sly, and cun- 
ning; his mouth and chin bristly with the stubble of a coarse hard beard; and 
his complexion was one of that kind which never looks clean or wholesome. 
But what added most to the grotesque expression of his face was a ghastly smile, 
which, appearing to be the mere result of habit, and to have no connection with" 
any mirthful or complacent feeling, constantly revealed the few discolored fangs 
that were yet scattered in his mouth, and gave him the aspect of a panting dog. 
His dress consisted of a large high-crowned hat, a worn dark suit, a pair of 
capacious shoes, and a dirty white neckerchief, sufficiently limp and crumpled to 
disclose the greater portion of his wiry throat. Such hair as he had was of a 
grizzled black, cut short and straight upon his temples, and hanging in a 
frowzy fringe about his ears. His hands, which were of a rough, coarse grain , 
were very dirty; his finger-nails were crooked, long, and yellow. 

Mr. Quilp could scarcely be said to be of any particular trade or calling, 
though his pursuits were diversified, and his occupations numerous. He col- 
lected the rents of whole colonies of filthy streets and alleys by the water-side, 
advanced money to the seamen and petty officers of merchant- vessels, had a 
share in the ventures of divers mates of East-Indiamen, smoked his smuggled 
cigars under the very nose of the custom-house, and made appointments on 
'change with men in glazed hats and round jackets, pretty well every day. 

Quilp having absented himself from home for some time, and 
not having been heard from, it is finally supposed that he is dead ; 
and Mr. Sampson Brass, the attorney, is called in to write a de- 
scriptive advertisement in hopes of finding the body. Quilp re- 
turns, however, just at this moment, and resolves to steal upon his 
wife unawares. 

The bedroom-door on the staircase being unlocked, Mr. Quilp slipped in, and 
planted himself behind the door of communication between that chamber and 
the sitting-room, which, standing ajar, to render both more airy, and having a 
very convenient chink (of which he had often availed himself for purposes of 
espial, and had indeed enlarged with his pocket-knifej, enabled him not only to 
hear, but to see distinctly, what was passing. 



176 2CI)e Bicfeciis Bictionats. 

Applying his eye to this convenient place, he descried Mr. Brass seated at the 
table with pen, ink, and paper, and the case-bottle of rum — his own case-bottle, 
and his own particular Jamaica — convenient to his hand, with hot water, fra- 
grant lemons, white lump-sugar, and all things fitting; from which choice mate- 
rials, Sampson, by no means insensible to their claims upon his attention, had 
compounded a mighty glass of punch, reeking hot, which he was at that very mo- 
ment stirring up with a teaspoon, and contemplating with looks in which a faint 
assumption of sentimental regret struggled but weakly with a bland and comforta- 
ble joy. At the same table, with both her elbows upon it, was Mrs. Jiniwin, no 
longer sipping other people's punch feloniously with teaspoons, but taking deep 
draughts from a jorum of her own; while her daughter — not exactly with ashes 
on her head, or sackcloth on her back, but preserving a very decent and becoming 
appearance of sorrowy nevertheless — was reclining in an easy-chair, and sooth- 
ing her grief with a smaller allowance of the same glib liquid. There were also 
present a couple of water-side men, bearing between them certain machines 
called drags. Even these fellows were accommodated with a stiff glass apiece; 
and as they drank with a great relish, and were naturally of a red-nosed, pimple- 
faced, convivial look, their presence rather increased than detracted from that de- 
cided appearance of comfort which was the great characteristic of the party. 

" If I could poison that dear old lady's rum and water," murmured Quilp, " I 'd 
die happy." 

"Ah ! " said Mr. Brass, breaking the silence, and raising his eyes to the ceiling 
with a sigh, " who knows but he may be looking down upon us now I Who 
knows but he may be surveying of us from — from somewheres or another, and 
contemplating us with a watchful eye ! O Lor I " 

Here Mr, Brass stopped to drink half his punch, and then resumed, looking at 
the other half, as he spoke, with a dejected smile. 

"■ I can almost fancy," said the lawyer, shaking his head, " that I see his eye 
glistening down at the very bottom of my liquor. When shall we look upon his 
like again? Never, never! One minute we are here," — holding his tumbler be- 
fore his eyes, — " the next we are there " — gulping down its contents, and striking 
himself emphatically a little below the chest — '"in the silent tomb. To think 
that I should be drinking his very rum I It seems like a dream." 

With the view, no doubt, of testing the reality of his position, Mr. Brass pushed 
his tumbler, as he spoke, towards Mrs. Jiniwin, for the purpose of being replen- 
ished, and turned towards the attendant mariners. 

" The search has been quite unsuccessful, then ?" 

" Quite, master. But I should say, that, if he turns up anywhere, he '11 come 
ashore somewhere about Grinidge to-morrow, at ebb tide; eh, mate?" 

The other gentleman assented, observing that he was expected at the Hospital, 
and that several pensioners would be ready to receive him whenever he arrived. 

" Then we have nothing for it but resignation," said Mr. Brass, — " nothing but 
resignation and expectation. It would be a comfort to have his body : it would 
be a dreary comfort." 

" Oh, beyond a doubt 1 " assented Mrs. Jiniwin hastily. " If we once had that, 
we should be quite sure." 

"With regard to the descriptive advertisement," said Sampson Brass, taking 
up his pen. " It is a melancholy pleasure to recall his traits. Respecting his legs 
now?" — 

" Crooked, certainly," said Mrs. Jiniwin. 

" Do you think they were crooked ? " said Brass in an insinuating tone. " I 
think I see them now, coming up the street, very wide apart, in nankeen panta* 



©Ill ©utfositg S|)op. 177 

loons, a little shrunk, and without straps. Ahl what a vale of tears we live in I 
Do we say crooked ? " 

" I think they were a little so," observed Mrs. Quilp with a sob. 

" L(!gs crooked," said Brass, writing as he spoke. " Large head, short body, 
legs crooked " — 

"Very crooked," suggested Mrs. Jiniwin. 

" We 'II not say very crooked, ma'am," said Brass piously. " Let us not bear 
hard upon the weaknesses of the deceased. He is gone, ma'am, to where his legs 
will never come in question. We will content ourselves with crooked, Mrs. 
Jiniwin." 

" I thought you wanted the truth," said the old lady. " That 's all." 

" Bless your eyes, how I love you 1 " muttered Quilp, '* There she goes again I 
Nothing but punch 1 " 

" This is an occupation," said the lawyer, laying down his pen, and emptying 
his glass, '• which seems to bring him before my eyes like the ghost of Hamlet's 
father, in the very clothes that he wore on work-a-days. His coat, his waistcoat, 
his shoes and stockings, his trousers, his hat, his wit and humor, his pathos and 
his umbrella, — all come before me like visions of my youth. His linen I " said Mr. 
Brass, smiling fondly at the wall, — " his linen, which was always of a particular 
color, for such was his whim and fancy, — how plain I see his linen now I " 

" You had better go on, sir," said Mrs. Jiniwin impatiently. 

" True, ma'am, true," cried Mr. Brass. " Our faculties must not freeze with 
grief. I '11 trouble you for a little more of that, ma'am. A question now arises 
with relation to his nose." 

" Flat," said 3Irs. Jiniwin. 

" Aquiline I " cried Quilp, thrusting in his head, and striking the feature with 
his fist, — "aquiline, you hag! Do you see it? Do you call this flat? Do you? 
Eh?" 

" Oh, capital, capital I " shouted Brass, from the mere force of habit. " Excel- 
lent I How very good he is I He 's a most remarkable man, — so extremely whim- 
sical I Such an amazing power of taking people by surprise I " 

Quilp paid no regard whatever to these compliments, nor to the dubious and 
frightened look into which the lawyer gradually subsided, nor to the shrieks of his 
wife and mother-in-law, nor to the latter's running from the room, nor to the for- 
mer's fainting away. Keeping his eye fixed on Sampson Brass, he walked up to 
the table, and, beginning with his glass, drank off the contents, and went regu- 
larly round until he had emptied the other two ; when he seized the case-bottle, 
and, hugging it under his arm, surveyed him with a most extraordinary leer. 

" Not yet, Sampson I " said Quilp, — "• not just yet 1 " 

" Oh, very good indeed I " cried Brass, recovering his spirits a little. "Ha, ha, 
ba f Oh, exceedingly good ! There 's not another man alive who could carry it off 
like that. A most difficult position to carry off. But he has such a flow of good- 
humor, such an amazing flow I " 

" Good-night ! " said the dwarf, nodding expressively. 

" Good-night, sir, good-night I " cried the lawyer, retreating backwards towards 
the door. '- This is a joyful occasion, indeed; extremely joyful. Ha, ha, ha ! Oh 
very rich, very rich indeed, remarkably so I " 

Waiting until Mr. Brass's ejaculations died away in the distance (for he con- 
tinued to pour them out all the way down stairs), Quilp advanced towards the 
two men, who yet lingered in a kind of stupid amazement. 

" Have you been dragging the river all day, g^entlemen ?" said the dwarf, hold- 
ing the door open with great politeness. 



178 2ri)p Bicfeens ©fctionarg. 

" And yesterday, too, master." 

" Dear me I you Ve had a deal of trouble. Pray consiier every thing youra 
that you find upon the — upon the body. Good-night I " 

The men looked at each other, but had evidently no inclination to argue the 
point just then, and shuffled out of the room. The speedy clearance effected, 
Quilp locked the doors, and, still embracing the case-bottle vrith shrugged-up 
shoulders and folded arms, stood looking at his insensible wife like a dis- 
mounted nightmare. 

Quilp comes to his end by falling into the Thames, and drowning, 
on a dark night, in an attempt to escape from some officers who are 
on the point of arresting him for various crimes. His property falls 
to his wife, who bears her bereavement with exemplary resignation, 
and marries again, choosing the exact opposite of the dear departed. 
(Ch. iii-vi, ix, xi^xiii, xxiii, xxvii, xxx, xli, xlviii-li, Ix, Ixii, Ixiv, 
Ixvii, Ixxiii.) See Scott, Tom. 

Quilp, Mrs. Betsey. His wife; "a pretty Uttle, mild-spoken, 
blue-eyed woman, who having allied herself in wedlock to the 
dwarf, in one of those strange infatuations of which examples are 
by no means scarce, performed a sound practical penance for her 
folly every day of her life." (Ch. iv-vi, xiii, xxi, xxiii, xlix, 1, Ixvii, 
Ixxiii.) See Quilp, Daniel. 

Scott, Tom. Quilp's boy. Although he is habitually beaten and 
abused by Quilp, Tom retains a queer sort of affection and admira- 
tion for his master. His favorite amusement is to stand on his 
head ; and he also adopts this attitude when he wishes to show his 
defiance of Mr. Quilp's instructions, or to revenge himself upon 
him. Being cast upon the world by his master's death, he deter- 
mines to go through it upon his head and hands, and accordingly 
becomes a professional " tumbler," adopting the name of an Italian 
image-lad of his acquaintance, and meeting with extraordinary suc- 
cess. (Ch. iv-vi, xi, xiii, xxvii, xlix-li, Ixvii, Ixxiii.) 

Sexton, The Old. An old man at the village where Little Nell 
and her grandfather find a home. (Ch. liii-lv, Ixx, Lxxii.) 

Short. See Harris, Mr. 

Simnions, Mrs. Henrietta. A neighbor of Mrs. Quilp. (Ch. 
iv.) 

Single Gentleman, The. Brother to Little Nell's grandfather. 
He proves to be Master Humphrey, the narrator of the story. (Ch. 
xxxiv-xxxviii, xl, xli, xlvii, xlviii, Iv, Ivi, Ixvi, Lxix-lxxiii.) See 
Grandfather, Little Nell's. 

Slum, Mr. A writer of poetical advertisements. (Ch. xxviii.) 

Sphynx, Sophronia. See Marchioness, The. 



©Itr <a:uriosft2 SJop 179 

Sweet W^illiam. A silent man, who earns his living by showing 
tricks upon cards, and who has rather deranged the natural expres- 
sion of his countenance by putting small leaden lozenges into his 
eyes, and bringing them out at his mouth. (Ch. xix.) 

Swiveller, Dick. Friend to Fred Trent, and clerk to Sampson 
Brass. He is first introduced on the occasion of a visit which young 
Trent makes to his grandfather for the purpose of demanding to 
see his sister. 

At length there sauntered up on the opposite side of the way, with a bad 
pretence of passing by accident, a figure conspicuous for its dirty smartness, 
which, after a great many frowns and jerks of the head, in resistance of the 
invitation, ultimately crossed the road, and was brought into the shop. 

" There I It 's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him in. " Sit 
down, Swiveller." 

** But is the old min agreeable ? " said Mr. Swiveller in an under-tone. 

*' Sit down I " repeated his companion. 

Mr. Swiveller complied, and, looking about him with a propitiatory smile, 
observed that last week was a fine week for the ducks, and this week was a fine 
week for the dust : he also observed, that, whilst standing by the post at the street- 
corner, he had observed a pig with a otraw in his mouth issuing out of the to- 
bacco-shop, from which appearance he argued that another fine week for the 
ducks was approaching, and that rain would certainly ensue. He furthermore 
took occasion to apologize for any negligence that might be perceptible in his 
dress, on the ground that last night he had had '^ the sun very strong in his 
eyes," by which expression he was understood to convey to his hearers, in the 
most delicate manner possible, the information that he had been extremely 
drunk. 

" But what," said Mr. Swiveller with a sigh, — " what is the odds so long as 
the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of conwiviality, and the wing of friendship 
never moults a feather ? What is the odds so long as the spirit is expanded by 
means of rosy wine, and the present moment is the least happiest of our exist- 
ence?" ... 

It was, perhaps, not very unreasonable to suspect, from what had already 
passed, that Mr. Swiveller was not quite recovered from the effects of the powerful 
sunlight to which he had made allusion ; but, if no such suspicion had been awak- 
ened by his speech, his wiry hair, dull eyes, and sallow face, would still have been 
strong witnesses against him. His attire was not, as he had himself hinted, 
remarkable for the nicest arrangement, but was in a state of disorder, which 
strongly induced the idea that he had gone to bed in it. It consisted of a brown 
body-coat with a great many brass buttons up the front, and only one behind, a 
bright check neckerchief, a plaid waistcoat, soiled white trousers, and a very 
limp hat, worn with the wrong side foremost, to hide a hole in the brim. The 
breast of his coat was ornamented with an outside pocket, from which there 
peeped forth the cleanest end of a very large and very ill-favored handkerchief; 
his dirty wristbands were pulled down as far as possible, and ostentatiously folded 
back over his cuffs ; he displayed no gloves, and carried a yellow cane having at 
the top a bone hand with the semblance of a ring on its little finger, and a black 
ball in its grasp. "With all these personal advantages (to which may be added 
a strong savor of tobacco-smoke and a prevailing greasiness of appearance) 



180 2Ct)e ISicfeens Bictionars. 

Mr. Swiveller leaned back in his chair, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and, 
occasionally pitching his voice to the needful key, obliged the company with a 
few bars of an intensely-dismal air, and then, in the middle of a note, relapsed 
into his former silence. 

Mr. Swiveller and Fred enter into a sort of conspiracy to marry 
the former to Little Nell, and thus get possession of the enormous 
wealth which, it is supposed, the old man is hoarding up for her. 
After the disappearance of Little Nell and her grandfather, Dick- 
makes a friend of Quilp, who obtains for him a situation as clerk in 
the law-office of Sampson Brass. 

A coach stopped near the door, and presently afterwards there was a loud double- 
knock. As this was no business of Mr. SwiveUer's, the person not ringing the office- 
bell, he pursued his diversion with perfect composure, notwithstanding that he 
rather thought there was nobody else in the house. 

In this, however, he was mistaken ; for, after the knock had been repeated with 
increased impatience, the door was opened, and somebody with a very heavy tread 
went up the stairs, and into the room above. Mr. Swiveller was wondering 
whether this might be another Miss Brass, twin-sister to the Dragon, when there 
came a rapping of knuckles at the office-door. 

" Come in ! " said Dick. " Don't stand upon ceremony. The business will get 
rather complicated if I 've many more customers. Come in I " 

" Oh I please," said a little voice very low down in the doorway, " will you come 
and show the lodgings ? " 

Dick leaned over the table, and descried a small, slipshod girl in a dirty coarse 
apron and bib, which left nothing of her visible but her face and feet. She might 
as well have been dressed in a violin-case. 

" Why, who are you ? " said Dick. 

To which the only reply was, "■ Oh I please, will you come and show the lodg- 
ings?" 

There never was such an old-fashioned child in her looks and manner. She 
must have been at work from her cradle. She seemed as much afraid of Dick as 
Dick was amazed at her. 

" I have n't got any thing to do with the lodgings," said Dick. " Tell 'em to call 
again." 

" Oh 1 but please, will you come and show the lodgings ? " returned the girl. " It 's 
eighteen shillings a week, and us finding plate and linen. Boots and clothes is 
extra, and fires in winter-time is eightpence a day." 

" Why don't you show 'em yourself? You seem to know all about 'em," said 
Dick. 

"Miss SaUy said I was n't to, because people would n't believe the attendance 
was good, if they saw how small I was first." 

" Well ; but they '11 see how small you are afterwards ; won't they ? " said Dick. 

" Ah I But then they '11 have taken 'em for a fortnight certain," replied the child 
»rith a shrewd look; " and people don't like moving when they 're once settled." 

" This is a queer sort of thing," muttered Dick, rising. " What do you mean 
to say you are ; the cook ? " 

" Yes, I do plain cooking," replied the child. " I 'm housemaid too : I do all the 
work of the house." 

" I suppose Brass and the Dragon and I do the dirtiest part of it," thought 




id 
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X 
u 

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X 
H 

Q 

<: 

erf 

J 
> 



©Iti ®utio»tt2 S!)op. 181 

Dick. And he might have thought much more, being in a doubtful and hesitating 
mood, but that the girl again urged lier request, and certain mysterious bumping 
sounds on the passage and staircase seemed to give note of the applicant's impa- 
tience. Richard Swiveller, therefore, sticking a pen behind each ear, and carrying 
another in his mouth as a token of his great importance, and devotion to business, 
hurried out to meet and treat with the single gentleman. 

After the arrest of Kit Nubbles, in consequence of the false testi- 
mony of Sampson Brass, Dick, who has sided with the poor boy, is 
discharged. He takes his little bundle under his arm, intending to 
go to Kit's mother, and comfort and assist her. 

But the lives of gentlemen devoted to such pleasures as Richard Swiveller are 
extremely precarious. The spiritual excitement of the last fortnight, working 
upon a system affected in no slight degree by the spirituous excitement of some 
years, proved a little too much for him. That very night, Mr. Richard was seized 
with an alarming illness, and in twenty-four hours was stricken with a raging 
fever. 

Tossing to and fro upon his hot, uneasy bed, tormented by a fierce thirst which 
nothing could appease, unable to find in any change of posture a moment's peace 
or ease, and rambling ever through deserts of thought where there was no rest- 
ing-place, no sight or sound suggestive of refreshment or repose, nothing but a 
dull eternal weariness, with no change but the restless shiftings of his miserable 
body, and the weary wandering of his mind, constant still to one ever-present 
anxiety, —to a sense of something left undone, of some fearful obstacle to be sur- 
mounted, of some carking care that would not be driven away, and which haunt- 
ed the distempered brain, now in this form, now in that, always shadowy and dim, 
but recognizable for the same phantom in every shape it took, darkening every 
vision like an evil conscience, and making slumber horrible, — in these slow tortures 
of his dread disease the unfortunate Richard lay wasting and consuming inch by 
inch, until at last, when he seemed to fight and struggle to rise up, and to be held 
down by devils, he sank into a deep sleep, and dreamed no more. 

He awoke. With a sensation of most blissful rest, better than sleep itself, he 
began gradually to remember something of these sufferings, and to think what a 
long night it had been, and whether he had not been delirious twice or thrice. 
Happening, in the midst of these cogitations, to raise his hand, he was astonished 
to find how heavy it seemed, and yet how thin and light it really was. Still he 
felt indifferent and happy, and, having no curiosity to pursue the subject, remained 
in the same waking slumber until his attention was attracted by a cough. This 
made him doubt whether he had locked his door last night, and feel a little 
surprised at having a companion in the room. Still he lacked energy to follow 
up this train of thought, and . . . was rambling in imagination . . . Vhen he 
heard the cough once more. Raising himself a little in the bed, and holding the 
inirtain open with one hand, he looked out. 

The same room, certainly, and still by candle-light; but with what unbounded 
astonishment did he see all those bottles and basins, and articles of linen airing 
by the fire, and such like furniture of a sick-chamber, — all very clean and neat, but 
all quite different from any thing he left there when he went to bed 1 The atmos- 
phere, too, filled with a cool smell of herbs and vinegar, the floor newly sprinkled, 
the — the what ? The Marchioness ? 

Yes ; playing cribbage with herself at the table. There she sat, intent upon 
«er game, coughing now and then in a subdued manner as if she feared to disturb 
16 



X82 STfje JBicltcns 23ictfonar2. 

him, — shuflaing the cards, cutting, dealing, playing, counting, pegging, — going 
through all the mysteries of cribbage as if she had been in full practice from her 
cradle ! 

Mr. Swiveller raised the curtain again, determined to take the first favorable 
opportunity of addressing his companion. An occasion soon presented itself. 
The Marchioness dealt, turned up a knave, and omitted to take the usual advan- 
tage ; upon which Mr. Swiveller called out as loud as he could, '* Two for hi3 
heels I " 

The Marchioness jumped up quickly, and clapped her hands . . . for joy, . . . 
declaring . . . that she was " so glad she did n't know what to do." 

*' Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller thoughtfully, " be pleased to draw nearer. 
First of all, will you have the goodness to inform me where I shall find my voice, 
and, secondly, what has become of my flesh ? " 

The Marchioness only shook her head mournfully, and cried again; whereupon 
Mr. Swiveller (being very weak) felt his own eyes affected likewise. 

" I begin to infer from your manner and these appearances, Marchioness," 
said Richard after a pause, and smiling with a trembling lip, "that I have been 
ill." 

" You just have ! " replied the small servant, wiping her eyes. " And have n't 
you been a-talking nonsense I " 

" Oh I " said Dick. " Very ill. Marchioness, have I been ?" 

" Dead, all but," replied the small servant. " I never thought you 'd get better. 
Thank Heaven you have ! " 

Mr. Swiveller was silent for a long while. By and by he began to talk again, 
inquiring how long he had been there. 

"Three weeks to-morrow," replied the small servant. 

" Three what ? " said Dick. 

" "Weeks," returned the Marchioness emphatically, — '• three long, slow weeks." 

The bare thought of having been in such extremity caused Richard to fall into 
another silence, and to lie flat down again at his full-length. The Marchioness, 
having arranged the bed-clothes more comfortably, and felt that his hands and 
forehead were quite cool. — a discovery that filled her with delight, — cried a little 
more, and then applied herself to getting tea ready, and making some thin dry 
toast. 

While she was thus engaged, Mr. Swiveller looked on with a grateful heart, very 
much astonished to see how thoroughly at home she made herself, and attributing 
this attention, in its origin, to Sally Brass, whom, in his own mind, he could not 
thank enough. "When the Marchioness had finished her toasting, she spread a 
clean cloth on a tray, and brought him some crisp slices and a great basin of weak 
tea, with which (she said) the doctor had left word he might refresh himself when 
he awoke. She propped him up with pillows, if not as skilfully as if she had been 
a professional nurse all her life, at least as tenderly, and looked on with unuttera- 
ble satisfaction while the patient — stopping every now and then to shake her by 
the hand — took his poor meal with an appetite and relish which the greatest 
dainties of the earth, under any other circumstances, would have failed to pro- 
voke. Having cleared away, and disposed every thing comfortably about him 
again, she sat down at the table to take her own tea. 

" Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, " how 's Sally ? " 

The small servant screwed her face into an expression of the very uttermost 
rntanglement of slyness, and shook her head. 

" What I have n't you seen her lately ? " said Dick. 

" Seen her 1 " cried the small servant. " Bless you, I Ve run away I " 



©Itr ©ttJcfosftg Si)op, 183 

Mr. Swiveller immediately laid liimself down again quite flat, and so remained 
for about five minutes. By slow degrees he resumed his sitting posture after that 
lapse of time, and inquired, — 

" And where do you live. Marchioness ? " 
*' Live I " cried the small servant. " Here I " 
« Oh I " said Mr. Swiveller. 

And with that he fell down flat again as suddenly as if he had "been shot. 
Thus he remained, motionless, and bereft of speech, until she had finished her 
meal, put every tiling in its place, and swept the hearth; when he motioned her 
to bring a chair to the bedside, and, being propped up again, opened a, further 
conversation. 

«» And so," said Dick, '' you have run away? " 
"Yes," said the Marchioness ; " and they 've been a-tizing of me.'' 
"Been— I beg your pardon," said Dick, — "what have they been doing? " 
"Been a-tizing of me — tizing, you know, in the newapapers," rejoined th« 
Marchioness. 

" Ay, ay," said Dick, — " advertising ? " 

The small servant nodded and winked. Her eyes were so red with waking and 
crjring, that the Tragic Muse might have winked with greater consistency. And 
80 Dick felt. 

" Tell me," said he, " how it was that you thought of coming here." 
« Why, you see," returned the Marchioness, " when you was gone, I had n't 
any friend at all, because the lodger he never come back, and I did n't know where 
either him or you was to be found, you know. But one morning, when I was " — 
" Was near a keyhole," suggested Mr. Swiveller, observing that she faltered. 
" Well, then," said the small servant, nodding, — " when I was near the office 
keyhole, — as you see me through, you know,— I heard somebody saying that she 
lived here, and was the lady whose house you lodged at; and that you was took 
very bad; and would n't nobody come and take care of you ? Mr. Brass he says, 
* It 's no business of mine,' he says ; and Miss Sally she says, ' He 's a funny chap ; 
but it '8 no business of mine.' And the lady went away, and slammed the door to 
when she went out, I can tell you. So I run away that night, and come here, and 
told 'em you was my brother; and they believed me; and I 've been here ever 
since." 

In the end, Kit is released, and returned to his friends. Dick falls 
into an annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds a year, and, being 
very grateful to the Marchioness, his first thought is of her. " Please 
God " he says, " we '11 make a scholar of the poor Marchioness yet ! 
And she shall walk in silk attire, and siller have to spare, or may 
never rise from this bed again ! " 

After casting about for some time for a name which should be worthy of her, 
he decided in favor of Sophronia Sphynx, as being euphonious and genteel, and, 
furthermore, indicative of mystery. Under this title, the Marchioness repaired, in 
tears, to a school of his selection, from which, as she soon distanced all competi- 
tors, she was removed before the lapse of many quarters to one of a higher 
grade. It is but bare justice to Mr. Swiveller to say, that, although the expenses 
of her education kept him in straitened circumstances for half a dozen years, 
he never slackened in his zeal, and always held himself sufficiently repaid by the 
accounts he heard (with great gravity) of her advancement, on his monthly visits 
to the governess, who looked upon him as a literary gentleman of eccentric habits, 
%nd of a most prodigious talent in quotation. 



184 2ri)e Bicfeeixs 33ictionais. 

In a word, Mr. Swiveller kept the Marchioness at this establishment until she 
WSLS, at a moderate giiess, full nineteen years of age, good-looking, clever, and 
good-humored, when he began to consider seriously what was to be done next. 
On one of his periodical visits, while he was revolving this question in his mind, 
the Marchioness came down to him alone, looking more smiling and more fresh 
than ever. Then it occurred to him (but not for the j5rst time), that, if she would 
marry him, how comfortable they might be ! So Richard asked her. Whatever 
she said, it was n't No ; and they were married in good earnest that day week, 
which gave Mr. Swiveller frequent occasion to remark at divers subsequent peri- 
ods that there had been a young lady saving up for him after all. 

(Ch. ii, iii, vii, viii, xiii, xxi, xxiii, xxxiv-xxxviii, xlviii, 1, Ivi-lxvi, 
Ixxiii.) 

" One of his greatest creations. We are not sure that we do not, as a matter of individ- 
ual opinion, place Dick on a pinnacle above all the rest, — a pinnacle which, perhaps, he 
may divide with the Micawbers, (inimitable pair !) but which not even Sam Weller could 
reach. Sam is a saucy fellow, whom we all know we would not tolerate in our service 
for a day, useful as he was to Mr. Pickwick; but Dick Swiveller we take to our bosom. 
His very dissipatedness, his indebtedness, ' the rosy ' which he passes so much too often, 
the idle ways which we cannot help seeing, — we look upon all with indulgent eyes. He 
is never a blackguard in his lowest daj's : even the people in those streets which he shut 
up gradually by bu3'ing a pair of gloves in one place, and a pot of pomade in another, must 
have missed him when he no longer went bj'in his checked trousers, swinging his cane. 
... In the chapters which discuss and describe Dick Swiveller, there is more true humor 
than in all the rest of Dickens; for he, perhaps, alone of all the many personages of his 
family, has got the love of his author. He is treated fondly, with a gentle touch ; he is 
made fun of tenderly ; he is cunningly recommended to our affections, as a man recom- 
mends a truant-boy, who is the light of his eye^, in all manner of soft pretended reproach- 
es and fond abuse. He is almost the only man disabled, and incapable of helping him- 
self, of whom Dickens makes a favorite. . . . When the Marchioness comes upon the stage, 
the picture is perfect. .. . The honest fellow's goodness to the forlorn child, the perfect 
easewlth which he adapts himself to her society, the little Action (so quaintly nonsen- 
sical, yet, after a while, so real) which he weaves about her, ^ to all this we know scarcely 
any match in the language, and certainly nothing more humorous and captivating." — 
Blackwood's Mag., vol. CIX, pp. 683-85. 

"Much of Dickens's most exquisite and most exuberant humor is displayed in rep- 
resenting characters compounded of vanity, conceit, and assurance. . . . Mr. Eichard 
Swiveller is probably the most splendid specimen of the class, and is a fine example 
of the felicity with which Dickens can tread the dizziest edges of character without 
sinking into mere caricature. Dick is a sort of shabby Sir Harry Wildair, a reckless, 
feather-brained, good-natured vagabond, with no depth of guile, and whose irregulari- 
ties are the result of idleness, vanity, egotism, and a great flow of spirits. With a vast 
opinion of his own abilities, he is still overreached by every knave he encounters; 
and his life is a descent from one ' crusher ' to another. He is so vain, that he almost 
believes his own self-exalting lies; and he cannot possibly see things as they are. . . . 
His head is full of scraps of songs and plays, which he has a singular felicitous infe- 
licity in quoting to sustain the sentiment of the moment; and his slang, ever accompany- 
ing his sentiment, is as characteristic as the soil on his linen, or the marks of Time's ' effa- 
cing fingers ' on his flash coat. . . . Dick's imaginative vanity absolutely deceives his 
own senses. He calls a fight in which his own face is damaged a festive scene ; he asks 
his companion in punch to pass the rosy wine ; he pays for his liquor by solemnly advis- 
ing the boy at the bar never to touch spirits ; and tells a stranger whom he designs to 
dupe, that the wing of friendship must not moult a feather. Sir Epicure Mammon him- 
self hardly realizes with more fulness his gorgeous visions of gluttony and avarice than 
the images of all that is unreal in dissipation succeed each other as facts in poor Dick's 
lelter-skelter brain." — .fidiTin P. Whipple. 



©Iti ©uriostt^ ,S|)op. 185 

Trent, Frederick. Brother to Little Nell. (Ch. ii, iii, vii, viii, 
xxiii, 1, Ixxiii.) See Grandfather (Little Nell's), Swiv- 
ELLER (Dick). 

Trent, Little NeU. A small and delicate child of angelic purity 
of character, and sweetness of disposition, who hves alone with her 
grandfather, an old man possessed by a mania for gambling ; his 
object being to make her rich and happy. The account of their 
wanderings, after the old man loses the last of his property, and 
is turned into the streets a beggar and an imbecile, forms the 
thread of the story. 

" Which way ? " said the child. 

The old man looked irresolutely and helplessly, first at her, then to the right 
and left, then at her again, and shook his head. It was plain that she was 
thenceforth his guide and leader. The child felt it, but had no doubts or mis- 
giving, and, putting her hand in his, led him gently away. 

It was the beginning of a day in June, the deep blue sky unsullied by a 
cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. The streets were as yet nearly free from 
passengers ; the houses and shops were closed ; and the healthy air of morning 
fell like breath from angels on the sleeping town. 

The old man and the child passed on through the glad silence, elate with hope 
and pleasure. They were alone together once again. Every object was bright 
and fresh : nothing reminded them, otherwise than by contrast, of the monot- 
ony and constraint they had left behind. Church towers and steeples, frowning 
and dark at other times, nbw shone in the sun; each humble nook and corner 
rejoiced in light ; and the sky, dimmed only by excessive distance, shed its placid 
smile on every thing beneath. 

Forth from the city, while it yet slumbered, went the two poor adventurers, 
wandering they knew not whither. 

Nell and her grandfather fall into the company of many strange 
people during their wanderings, among whom are Messrs. Codlin 
and Short, a couple of itinerant showmen, who take it into their 
heads that the old man has stolen the child, and is endeavoring 
to elude pursuit, and that there will surely be a reward offered for 
their apprehension; whereupon they resolve to keep them in 
their company until the right time comes for surrendering them. 
Little Nell divines the object of these men ; and, fearing that her 
grandfather, in case they should be handed over to the authori- 
ties, may be confined in some asylum, she escapes from the 
showmen, and shortly afterwards falls in with Mrs. Jarley, the 
proprietress of " Jarley's Wax. Work," who engages her to point 
out the figures to visitors. While walking, one evening, near 
the town where Mrs. Jarley is exhibiting her works, Nell and 
her grandfather are overtaken by a severe storm, and are forced 
16* 



186 STlJe ©icltens Bfctfonarg. 

to seek shelter for the niffht at a roadside inn called the Valiant 
Soldier. Behind a screen some men are playing at cards, and, with 
the sight of this, all the slumbering passion of the old man is aroused. 
Being asked if he desires to join them, — 

He . . . replied by shaking the little purse in his eager hand, and then throw- 
ing it down upon the table, and gathering up the cards as a miser would clutch 
at gold. 

" Oh I That indeed I " said Isaac. " If that 's what the gentleman meant, I beg 
the gentleman's pardon. Is this the gentleman's little purse ? A very pretty little 
purse. Rather a light purse," added Isaac, throwing it into the air, and catching it 
dexterously, "but enough to amuse a gentleman for half an hour or so." . . . 

The child, in a perfect agony, drew her grandfather aside, and implored him, 
even then, to come away. 

" Come, and we may be so happy I " said the child. 

" We will be happy," replied the old man hastily. " Let me go, Nell. The 
means of happiness are on the cards and the dice. We must rise from little win- 
nings to great. There 's little to be won here ; but great will come in time. I shall 
but win back my own ; and it 's all for thee, my darling." 

" God help us I " cried the child. " Oh I what hard fortune brought us here ? " 

" Hush I " rejoined the old man, laying his hand upon her mouth. " Fortune will 
not bear chiding. We must not reproach her, or she shuns us : I have found that 
out." 

" Now, mister," said the stout man. " If you 're not coming yourself, give us the 
cards ; will you ? " 

" I am coming," cried the old man. " Sit thee down, Nell; sit thee down, and 
look on. Be of good heart, it 's all for thee, — all. every penny. I don't tell them ; 
no, no I or else they would n't play, dreading the chance that such a cause must give 
me. Look at them. See what they are, and what thou art. Who doubts that we 
must win ? " 

" The gentleman has thought better of it, and is n't coming," said Isaac, making 
as though he would rise from the table. " I 'm sorry the gentleman's daunted. 
Nothing venture, nothing have; but the gentleman knows best." 

"Why, I am ready. You have all been slow but me," said the old man. " I 
wonder who is more anxious to begin than I ? " 

As he spoke, he drew a chair to the table; and, the other three closing round it 
at the same time, the game commenced. 

The child sat by, and watched its progress with a troubled mind. Regardless of 
the run of luck, and mindful only of the desperate passion which had its hold upon 
lier grandfather, losses and gains were to her alike. Exulting in some brief tri- 
umph, or cast down by a defeat, there he sat so wild and restless, so feverishly and 
intensely anxious, so terribly eager, so ravenous for the paltry stakes, that she 
could have almost better borne to see him dead. And yet she was the innocent 
cause of all this torture ; and he, gambling with such a savage thirst for gain as the 
most insatiable gambler never felt, had not one selfish thought. 

On the contrary, the other three, — knaves and gamesters by their trade, — while 
intent upon their game, were yet as cool and quiet as if every virtue had been cen- 
tred in their breasts. ... 

The storm had raged for full three hours ; the lightning had grown fainter and 
less frequent; the thunder, from seeming to roll and break above their heads, had 
gradually died away into a deep, hoarse distance; and still the game went on, and 
«till the anxious child was quite forgotten. 



<DITJ ©urfosfts <S!)op. 187 

The old man plays until their little purse is exhausted, and nothing 
is left with which to pay for their entertainment. In this strait, Nell, 
after much hesitation, and fearftil that her grandfather will observe 
her, takes from her dress a small gold-piece which she has kept con- 
cealed there, in anticipation of some great emergency, and pays the 
reckoning, hiding the change which she receives, before rejoining her 
grandfather. Shortly afterwards she retires for the night. 

At last, sleep gradually stole upon her, — a broken, fitful sleep, troubled by 
dreams of falling from high towers, and waking with a start and in great terror. 
A deeper slumber followed this, and then, — what I That figure in the room I 

A figure was there. Yes ; she had drawn up the blind to admit the light when it 
should be dawn, and there, between the foot of the bed and the dark casement, it 
crouched and slunk along, groping its way with noiseless hands, and stealing round 
the bed. She had no voice to cry for help, no power to move, but lay still, watch- 
ing it. 

On it came, on, silently and stealthily, to the bed's head; the breath so near 
her pillow, that she shrunk back into it, lest those wandering hands should light 
upon her face. Back again it stole to the window, then turned its head towards 
her. 

The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter darkness of the room ; but she 
saw the turning of the head, and felt and knew how the eyes looked, and the ears 
listened. There it remained, motionless as she. At length, still keeping the face 
towards her, it busied its hands in something, and she heard the chink of money. 

Then on it came again, silent and stealthy as before, and, replacing the garments 
it had taken from the bedside, dropped upon its hands and knees, and crawled 
away. How slowly it seemed to move now that she could hear, but not see it, 
creeping along the floor ! It reached the door at last, and stood upon its feet. The 
steps creaked beneath its noiseless tread, and it was gone. 

The first impulse of the child was to fly from the terror of being by herself in 
that room, to have somebody by, not to be alone; and then her power of 
speech would be restored. With no consciousness of having moved, she gained 
the door. 

There was the dreadful shadow, pausing at the bottom of the steps. 

She could not pass it : she might have done so, perhaps, in the darkness, with- 
out being seized ; but her blood curdled at the thought. The figure stood quite still, 
and so did she ; not boldly, but of necessity ; for going back into the room was 
hardly less terrible than going on. 

The rain beat fast and furiously without, and ran down in plashing streams from 

he thatched roof. Some summer insect, with no escape into the air, flew blindly to 

md fro, beating its body against the walls and ceiling, and filling the silent place 

with murmurs. The figure moved again. The child involuntarily did the same. 

Once in her grandfather's room, she would be safe. 

It crept along the passage until it came to the very door she longed so ardently 
to reach. The child, in the agony of being so near, had almost darted forward 
with the design of bursting into the room, and closing it behind her, when the 
figure stopped again. 

The idea flashed suddenly upon her, — what if it entered there, and had a design 
upon the old man's life ! She turned faint and sick. It did. It went in. There 
was a light inside. The figure was now within the chamber, and she, still dumb, — 
quite dumb, and almost senseless, — stood looking on. 



188 2C!)e 29fc&cns Bictfonar^. 

The door was partly open. Not knowing what she meant to do, but meaning to 
preserve him. or be killed herself, she staggered forward and looked in. 

What sight was that which met her view I 

The bed had not been lain on, but was smooth and empty ; and at a table sat 
the old man himself, the only living creature there, — his white face pinched and 
sharpened by the greediness which made his eyes unnaturally bright, — counting 
the money of which his hands had robbed her. 

Shocked beyond measure by the sight, the child returns to her room ; 
but, during the night, she steals again to her grandfather's side, and 
finds him asleep. 

She had no fear as she looked upon his slumbering features ; but she had a deep 
and weighty sorrow, and it found its relief in tears. 

'' God bless him 1 " said the child, stooping softly to kiss his placid cheek. " 1 
see too well now, that they would indeed part us if they found us out, and shut 
him up from the light of the sun and sky. He has only me to help him. God bless 
us both I » 

Lighting her candle, she retreated as silently as she had come, and, gaining her 
own room once more, sat up during the remainder of that long, long, miserable 
night. 

At last the day turned her waning candle pale; and she fell asleep. She was 
quickly roused by the girl who had shown her up to bed, and, as soon as she was 
dressed, prepared to go down to her grandfather. But first she searched her 
pocket, and found that her money was all gone : not a sixpence remained. 

The old man was ready, and in a few seconds they were on their road. The child 
thought he rather avoided her eye, and appeared to expect that she would tell him 
of her loss. She felt she must do that, or he might suspect the truth. 

" Grandfather," she said in a tremulous voice, after they had walked about a 
mile in silence, "do you think they are honest people at the house yonder? " 

'' Why ?" returned the old man, trembling. *' Do I think them honest ? — yes, 
they played honestly." 

" I '11 tell you why I ask," rejoined Nell. " I lost some money last night, out of 
my bedroom, I am sure. Unless it was taken by somebody in jest, — only in jest, 
dear grandfather, which would make me laugh heartily if I could but know it," — 

" Who would take money in jest ? " returned the old man in a hurried manner. 
" Those who take money take it to keep. Don't talk of jest." 

" Then it was stolen out of my room, dear," said the child, whose last hope was 
destroyed by the manner of this reply. 

By tears and entreaties, Nell succeeds in leading her grandfather 
away from the old temptation, which has again beset him, and forms 
fresh hopes of saving him ; but these are soon dissipated. Unseen, 
herself, she discovers him in company with the same gamblers, and 
witnesses their cunning endeavors to induce him to rob Mrs. Jarley, 
in order to obtain the means of winning back all he had lost, and, 
perhaps, of securing still greater gains. 

She went back to her own room, and tried to prepare herself for bed. But who 
could sleep — sleep ! who could lie passively down — distracted by such terrors ? 
They came upon her more and more strongly yet. Half-undressed, and with her 



©in ©urfositg Si)op. 189 

hair in wild disorder, she flew to the old man's bedside, clasped him by the wrist, 
and roused him from his sleep. 

" What 's this I " he cried, starting up in bed, and fixing his eyes upon her spec- 
tral face. 

" I have had a dreadful dream," said the child, with an energy that nothing but 
such terrors could have inspired, — " a dreadful, horrible dream I I have had it 
once before. It is a dream of gray-haired men like you, in darkened rooms, by 
night, robbing sleepers of their gold. Up, up ! » The old man shook in every 
joint, and folded his hands like one who prays. 

"Not to me," said the child, — "not to me; to Heaven, to save us from 
such deeds I This dream is too real. I cannot sleep; I cannot stay here; I 
cannot leave you alone under the roof where such dreams come. Up ! We must 
fly." 

He looked at her as if she were a spirit, — she might have been for all the look 
of earth she had, — and trembled more and more. 

« There is no time to lose : I will not lose one minute," said the child. " Up I 
and away with me." 

" To-night ? " murmured the old man. 

" Yes, to-night," replied the child. " To-morrow night will be too late. The 
dream will have come again. Nothing but flight can save us. Up!" 

The old man rose from his bed, his forehead bedewed with the cold sweat of 
fear, and, bending before the child as if she had been an angel messenger sent 
to lead him where she would, made ready to follow her. She took him by the 
hand, and led him on. As they passed the door of the room he had proposed to 
rob, she shuddered, and looked up into his face. What a white face was that I and 
with what a look did he meet hers ! 

She took him to her own chamber, and still holding him by the hand, as if she 
feared to lose him for an instant, gathered together the little stock she had, and 
hung her basket on her arm. The old man took his wallet from her hands, and 
strapped it on his shoulders, — his staff, too, she had brought away, — and then she 
led him forth. 

They suffer much privation after this, and the old man complains 
piteously of hunger and fatigue ; but the child trudges on, with less 
and less of hope and strength, indeed, but with an undiminished reso- 
lution to lead her sacred charge somewhere — anywhere, indeed — 
away from guilt and shame. At last they encounter Mr. Marton, a 
poor but kind-hearted schoolmaster, whom they had met once before. 
He is travelling on foot to a distant village, where he has been ap- 
pointed clerk and teacher ; and, on learning from Little Nell the full 
story of her trials and sufferings and wanderings, asks her and her 
grandfather to accompany him, promising to use his best endeavors 
to find them some humble occupation by which they can subsist. 
Little Nell gladly embraces his offer; and they journey on together. 
Arrived at the village, their kind friend exerts himself successfully 
n their behalf, procures them a pleasant home and a light employ- 
ment in connection with the parish church, which brings them money 
enough to live on. But the quiet and happy life they begin to lead 



190 2C!)e 3Bfcltens UBlcttonnxp* 

is destined to be of short duration. Long exposure and suffering 
have been too much for the child's delicate organization, and her 
health fails. Slowly, but surely, the end draws on, and at last she 
dies. 

They had read and talked to her in the earlier portion of the night; but, as 
the hours crept on, she sunk to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly 
uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings with the old man : they 
were of no painful scenes, but of people who had helped and used them kindly; 
for she often said, " God bless you 1 " with great fervor. Waking, she never 
wandered in her mind but once ; and that was of beautiful music which she 
said was in the air. God knows. It may have been. 

Opening her eyes, at last, from a very quiet sleep, she begged that they would 
kiss her once again. That done, she turned to the old man with a lovely smile 
upon her face, — such, they said, as they had never s«en, and never could forget, 
— and clung with both her arms about his neck. They did not know that she 
was dead at first. 

She had spoken very often of the two sisters, who, she said, were like dear 
friends to her. She wished they could be told how much she thought about 
them, and how she had watched them as they walked together by the river-side 
at night. She would like to see poor Kit she had often said of late. She wished 
there was somebody to take her love to Kit. And even then she never thought 
or spoke about him, but with something of her old, clear, merry laugh. 

For the rest, she had never murmured or complained, but with a quiet mind, 
and manner quite unaltered, — save that she every day became more earnest 
and more grateful to them, — faded like the light upon a summer's evening. 

(Ch. i-vi, ix-xii, xv-xix, xxiv-xxxii, xlii-xlvi, lii-lv, Ixxi, Ixxii.) 
See Grandfather, Little Nell's. 

"Amid the wolfish malignity of Quilp, the sugared meanness of Brass, the roaring 
conviviality of Swiveller, amid scenes of selfishness and shame, of passion and crime, 
• this delicate creation moves along, unsullied, purified, pursuing the good in the simple 
earnestness of a pure heart, gliding to the tomb as to a sweet sleep, and leaving in 
every place that her presence beautifies the marks of celestial footprints. Sorrows 
such as hers, over which so fine a sentiment sheds its consecrations, have been well said 
to be ill bartered for the garishness of joy ; ' for they win us softly from life, and fit us to 
die smiling. '" — ^. P. Whipple. 

Trotters. See Harris, Mr. 

Vuffin. A showman ; proprietor of a giant, and of a little lady 
without legs or arms. (Ch. xix.) 

Wackles, Miss Jane. Youngest daughter of Mrs. Wackles, 
and instructor in the art of needlework, marking, and samplery, in 
the " Ladies' Seminary " presided over by her mother. (Ch. viii.) 
"SJiiSrackles, Miss Melissa. Teacher of English grammar, com- 
position, geography, and the use of the dumb-bells, in her mother's 
seminary for young ladies. She is the eldest daughter, and verges 
on the autumnal, having seen thirty-five summers, or thereabouts; 
(Ch. viii.) 



©llr €uriosit2 S!)op. * 191 

Wackles, Miss Sophy. A fresh, good-humored, buxom girl 
of twenty ; Mrs. Wackles's second daughter, and teacher of writ- 
ing, arithmetic, dancing, and general fascination in the " Ladies' 
Seminary." An unsuccessful attempt is made to inveigle Swiveller 
into a match with Miss Sophy. (Ch. viii.) 

Wackles, Mrs. Proprietor of a very small day-school for young 
ladies, at Chelsea ; an excellent but rather venomous old lady of 
threescore, who takes special char^ of the corporal punishment, 
fasting, and other tortures and terrors of the establishment. (Ch. 
viii.) 

West, Dame. The grandmother of a favorite pupil of Mr. Mar- 
ton's, the schoolmaster. (Ch. xxv.) 

Whisker. A pony belonging to Mr. Garland, obstinate, independ- 
ent, and freakish, but " a very good fellow, if you know how to 
manage him." (Ch. xiv, xx, xxii, xxxviii, xl, Ivii, Ixi, Ixv, Ixviii, 
Ixxiii.) 

William, Sweet. See Sweet William. 

Witherden, Mr. A notary ; short, chubby, fresh-colored, brisk, 
and pompous. (Ch. xiv, xx, xxxviii, xl, xli, Ixi, Ixiii, Ixv, Ixvi, 
Ixxiii.) 



PBINQIPAL mCIBENTS. 

Chapter I. Little Nell inquires the way of Master Humphrey ; he goes home with 
her to the Old Curiosity Shop, and meets her grandfather ; return of Kit from his en-and ; 
Master Humphrey, going out, is surprised that the old man is going, leaving Little Nell 
alone.— II. Returning, drawn by curiosity, a few days after, Master Humphrey interrupts 
an angry controversy between the old man and his grandson ; Fred Trent calls in his 
friend Mr. Swiveller, who gives some pacific advice; Little Nell returns. — III. She is 
followed by Quilp; the old man keeps his secret close. — IV. Mrs. Quilp and her mother, 
discussing with some neighbors the character of Mr. Quilp, are interrupted by the entrance 
of that gentleman; Quilp's kind treatment of his wife. —V. Mr. Quilp goes to his wharf, 
where he quarrels with his boy ; Nell comes to him there mth a letter. — VI. Quilp takes 
Nellio his home on Tower Hill, where he forces Mrs. Quilp to question the child for her 
grandfather's secret, while he listens behind the door.— VIL Fred Trent, supposing his 
grandfather to be very rich, conspires with Dick Swiveller to get possession of his property 
by tlie marriage of Little Nell to the latter gentleman, involving the probable disappoint- 
ment of the matrimonial expectations of Miss Sophy Wackles. — VIII. Mr. Swiveller dines 
his friend at the expense of closing another street to his passage ; Miss Sophy Wackles 
plays off Mr. Cheggs against Mr. Swiveller, and loses Mr. Swiveller. — IX. Nelly pleads 
with her grandfather to give up their way of living, and become beggars and be happy; 
Quilp enters, unperceived, and hears their conversation; Quilp informs the old man that 
he has discovered the secret of his gambling, and the old man denies that he ever played 
for his own sake, but always for Nelly's good ; Quilp throws the old man's suspicions upon 
Kit. — X. Kit, after watching the house until midnight, goes home, and is soon followed 



192 8ri)e IBH^tns Bictfonata?. 

by Nelly, who informs him of the illness of her grandfather, and that he blames Kit him 
Bclfas the cause. — XI. Quilp, accompanied by Sampson Brass, takes possession of the 
old man's property ; Kit has a secret interview with Little Nell. — XII. The old man re- 
covers, and is warned by Quilp to leave the house; he and Nell leave secretly, not know- 
ing where they shall go. — Xni. Mr. Quilp. opening the door to his wife, falls into the 
hands of Mr. Richard Swiveller; Mr. Swiveller's astonishment at what has happened; 
Kit fights with Quilp's boy for the possession of Nelly's bird, and wins. — XIV. Kit minds 
the horse of Mr. and Mrs. Garland, while their son, Mr. Abel, is being articled to Mr. With- 
erden, and gets overpaid for the job. — XV. Nelly and her grandfather escape from London, 
and are befriended by a cottager's family. — XVI. They encounter Messrs. Codlin and 
Short, itinerant showmen, in the graveyard. — XVII. Little Nell's interview with the aged 
widow of a young husband ; Codlin and Short invite Nell and her grandfather to go with 
them to the races ; they encounter the stilt-walkers. — XVIII. Arrived at the Jolly Sand- 
boys, they are joined by other showmen, and have supper. — XIX. Codlin makes warm 
professions of friendship, and both he and Short keep close watch of the fugitives; Nelly 
and her grandfather escape from their companions. — XX. Kit goes to work out the odd 
sixpence paid him by Mr. Garland. — XXI. He is engaged by Mr. Garland for six pounds a 
year; Quilp and Mr. Swiveller pursue their inquiries for the fugitives at the house of Mrs. 
Nubbles ; the dwarf draws from Mr. Swiveller the details of the scheme he has formed 
with Fred Trent, and promises his assistance. —XXII. Kit becomes an inmate of Abel 
Cottage. — XXIII. Mr. Richard Swiveller bemoans his orphan-state, and is adopted by Mr. 
Quilp ; Quilp and Fred Trent, for different reasons, unite in the scheme for entrapping 
Nelly into a marriage with Dick Swiveller. — XXIV. Escaped from the showmen, Nell 
and her grandfather find their way to a quiet village, where they are kindly received by 
the schoolmaster. — XXV. Nell spends the morning in the schoolroom; the schoolmaster 
takes Nell to the sick-room of his favorite pupil, little Harry; Harry's death. —XXVI. 
After leaving the schoolmaster, Nelly and the old man encounter Mrs. Jarley taking tea in 
her-caravan ; she gives them some supper, and carries them on their way. — XXVII. Mrs. 
Jarley explains her business to the child, and, finding they are begging their living, offers 
her employment, which she gladly accepts ; the child is terrified by the sight of Quilp, but, 
luckily, escapes being seen by him. —XXVIII. Mr. Slum receives an order from iMrs. Jar- 
ley; Nell learns the history of Mrs. Jarley's wax figures. —XXIX. Nell and her grand- 
father, wandering through the fields, are caught in a storm, and take refuge in the Valiant 
Soldier; the old man becomes excited at the sight of gambling, secures the child's purse, 
plays, and loses. — XXX. The old man robs Nell of the little she has left. — XXXI. She 
tells him of the robbery, in the hope that he will confess it; he bids her keep silent about 
it; Miss Monflathers receives Nell with dignity ; she lectures Miss Edwards for her impro- 
priety in doing Nell a kindness, and refuses her patronage to Mrs. Jarley's exhibition.— 
XXXII. The old man gambles away all Nelly's earnings ; Mrs. Jarley's schemes for mak- 
ing her exhibition more popular. — XXXIII. Sally Brass reproves her brother for taking a 
clerk; he justifies it as the request of his best client, Mr. Quilp; Quilp introduces Mr. 
Swiveller, who is installed as Sampson Brass's clerk. — XXXIV. Dick defines his position, 
and tells how he came in it; he lets the lodgings to the Single Gentleman. —XXXV. The 
new lodger remains singularly silent for a long time ; Sampson Brass refreshes Mr. Swivel- 
ler's memory in regard to the statement made by the Single Gentleman, who is at length 
aroused, and expresses his desires to Mr. Richard Swiveller. — XXXVI. Mr. Swiveller 
finds favor in the eyes of Sally Brass ; he witnesses the feeding of the small serva^|t. — 
XXXVII. The Single Gentleman shows an extraordinary interest in Punch shows; he 
entertains Messrs. Codlin and Short, and makes particular inquiries in regard to Little Nell 
and her grandfather. — XXXVIII. Kit's progress in his new place; he meets the stranger 
gentleman at air. Witherdcn's, who questions him closely about the old man and the child, 
and enjoins silence thereupon; Dick Swiveller finds Kit can keep a secret. — XXXIX. 
How Kit and his mother, and Barbara and her mother, enjoyed their half-holiday. — XL. 
Kit receives with some surprise the intelligence that the strange gentleman desires to take 
him into his service, and declines to leave Mr. Garland ; the Single Gentleman informs Kit 
that Nell and the old man have been found; Kit declines his proposal to take him with 
him to bring them back, on account of the old man's feeling towards him, but recommends 
bis mother instead. — XLI. Kit finds his mother at the Little Bethel, where he is astonished 



®lti dtvLviosit^ S!)op. 193 

to see Quilp also ; the Single Gentleman and Mrs. Nubbles start on their journey. — XLTT. 
Little Nell overhears the gamblers tempting her grandfather to rob Mrs. Jarley, until he 
consents ; she sets this knowledge before him as a terrible dream she has had, and bids him 
fly with her from a place where such dreams come. — XLIII. The fugitives are befriended 
and carried on their way by some rough boatmen. — XLIV. Lost in the busy streets of a 
manufacturing town, they are taken by a poor workman to a foundry, where they remain 
through the night, in the warmth of the furnaces. — XLV. They wander on in search of 
the open country, Nell growing very weak from hunger and fatigue ; she is about to beg 
of a traveller on the road, when she recognizes in him their old friend the schoolmaster, 
and falls senseless at his feet. — XLVI. The schoolmaster carries her to a neighboring inn, 
where she is restored ; he informs them of his change of fortune, and they accompany him 
to his new home. — XLVII. The Single Gentleman and Mrs. Nubbles reach Mrs. Jarley 's, 
to find that lady just married to George, and to learn that the child and her grandfather 
disappeared a week before, and all attempts to find them have failed. — XLVIIL Quilp's 
appearance at the inn to which the Single Gentleman goes, and how he came to be there. — 
XLIX. Quilp returns home, and interrupts the arrangements Mr. Sampson Bras > and Mrs. 
Jiniwin are making for the recovery of his body, supposing him drowned. — L. Quilp 
establishes himself as a jolly bachelor in the counting-house on his wharf; he pays a visit 
to Mr. Swiveller, whom he finds disconsolate at the marriage of Sophy "Wackles to his 
rival, Cheggs ; the dwarf learns from Dick that his friend Fred Trent and the Single Gentle- 
man have met, with no goad result ; Mrs. Quilp importunes her husband to return home, 
but he drives her away. — LI. Quilp has an interview Avith Miss Brass's small servant; 
Quilp informs Sampson and Sally Brass that he wants Kit put out of tlie way, and they 
agree to do it. — LII. The schoolmaster arranges that Nell and her grandfather shall have 
the care of the church, and they take possession of their new homes ; their kind reception 
by the clergyman and the bachelor ; the bachelor introduces the schoolmaster to his new 
pupils. — LIII. Nell's talk with the old sexton. — LI v., LV. The sexton's impatience with 
old David; Nelly's health fails, and her friends grow anxious about her. — LVI. Mr. 
Swiveller goes into mourning on the occasion of the marriage of Miss Sophy Wackles; 
Mr. Chuckster complains to Mr. Swiveller that his merits are not appi'eciated ; Sampson 
Brass calls Kit into his office, and begins to put his plot against him into execution. — LVII. 
Progress of the plot ; Dick Swiveller discovers the small servant eaves-dropping ; he 
teaches her to play cribbage, and bestows upon her the title of Marchioness. — LVIII. He 
learns from her how she is kept by Miss Sally ; Mr. Swiveller relieves his melancholy by a 
little flute-playing ; Miss Sally reports to Dick that some small thefts have occurred in the 
office ; she suspects Kit, whom her brother stoutly defends. — LIX. Consummation of the 
plot, and arrest of Kit for larceny. — LX. Kit begs to be taken to Mr. Witherden's office ; 
on the way they encounter Quilp, who bestows his blessing on the party; astonishment 
of the Garlands and Mr. Witherden at the charge against Kit. — LXI. Kit in prison is 
visited by his mother and Barbara's mother; Mr.' Swiveller shows his sympathy in a mug 
of beer. — LXII. Sampson Brass visits Quilp in his den ; pleasant behavior of the facetious 
dwarf; he demands the discharge of Mr. Swiveller. —LXIII. Trial and conviction of Kit ; 
Mr. Swiveller gets his discharge. — LXIV. Mr, Swiveller awakes from a delirious sickness 
to find himself in the care of the Marchioness ; she informs him how she came there, and 
gives him the particulars of his sickness ; the Marchioness also relates to Dick the details 
of the plot against Kit. which she overheard through the key-hole ; she goes in search of 
Mr. Abel Garland. — LXV. She finds him, and brings him to Dick's lodgings, where she 
repeats the story to him. — LXVI. The Garlands and their friends take Mr. Swiveller and 
the Marchioness under their protection ; they attempt to draw a confession from Sally 
Brass, but the conference is interrupted by Sampson, who confesses the whole conspiracy; 
Dick Swiveller inherits a fortune, which is smaller than it might have been. — LXVU. 
Mrs. Quilp can-ies to her husband a letter from Sally Brass, informing him of the discovery 
of their schemes, and warning him of his danger; he drives his wife away, and groping 
in the darkness to escape the officers, who are already on his track, he falls into the river, 
and is drowned. — LXVI II. Kit is released, and welcomed home by his friends ; Mr. Garland 
notifies him to prepare for a journey to meet Nell and her grandfather; Kit has an under- 
standing with Barbara ; the Single Gentleman, Mr. Garland, and Kit start on their journey ; 
the Single Gentleman relates his story to Mr. Garland. — LXX. Thev arrive at the town 
17 



194 8r!)e Bfcfeens JSfctfonatg. 

after midnight ; the old sexton is disturbed ; Kit discovers the old man brooding over the 
fire. — LXXI. The old man knows neither Kit nor his brother; Nelly is dead. — LXXIL 
Her burial is kept a secret from her grandfather; the old man is found dead on the child's 
grave. — LXXIII. Sampson Brass, after serving out his sentence, joins his sister In the 
wretched neighborhood of St. Giles's; Mrs. Quilp marries again and lives happily; Mr. 
Abel Garland becomes the head of a family ; Mr. Swiveller bestows upon the small servant 
the name of Sophronia Sphynx, educates, and finally marries her; sad end of Frederick 
Trent; the Single Gentleman rewards all who befiriended his brother; the fiuuily history 
of Kit and Barbara. 



iBarnabg Hu&ge* 

A TALE OF THE RIOTS OF 'EIGHTY. 



" Barnabt Rudge " —which has been called " the most highly wrought, ear- 
nest, and powerful " of all Dickens's works — is an historical novel, based upon 
the Lord George Gordon, or London Protestant, riots of 1780, It first appeared 
in 1841, in " Master Humphrey's Clock ; " and in 1849 it was published apart from 
the machinery of that serial miscellany. The plan of it was formed, and possi- 
bly some part of it was written, before the " Pickwick Papers " were com- 
menced (1836). It was announced, under the name of " Gabriel Vardon " (see 
Vardbn, Gabriel, p. 203), as a new novel by the author of " Sketches by Boz;" 
and it continued to be so advertised until the beginning of 1837, when Macrone 
(Mr. Dickens's publisher) failed in business, and the advertisement was withdrawn; 
while the story was laid aside to be taken up and completed at a later day. 

In this tale, Dickens inculcates the duty of tolerance. In his Preface he re- 
marks, — 

" It is unnecessary to say that those shameful tumults, while they reflect indelible 
disgrace upon the time in which they occurred, and all who had act or part in them, teach 
a good lesson. That what we falsely call a religious cry is easily raised by men who have 
no religion, and who in their daily practice set at nought the commonest principles of 
right and wrong ; that it is begotten of intolerance and persecution ; that it is senseless, 
besotted, inveterate, and unmerciful,— all history teaches us: but perhaps we do not 
know it in our hearts too well to profit by even so humble and familiar an example as 
the ' No Popery ' riots of seventeen hundred and eighty." 

The story was also meant to be an argument against capital punishment, of 

which the author had an intense abhorrence. Formerly, in England, death was 

the ordinary punishment for every description of felony; and, although at the 

present day it is actually inflicted only in case of treason or murder, until towards 

the close of the reign of George; III, the criminal code, with almost Draconian 

justice, prescribed or implied that penalty for more than a hundred and sixty 

offences, many of them of a comparatively venial character. 

195 



196 Srte Btckens IDfctfonar^. 



CHABAGTEBS INTBODUGED, 

Akerman, Mr. Head jailer at Newgate. (Ch. Ixiv, Ixxvii.) 

Black Lion, The. Landlord of a London inn of the same name ; 
so called because he had instructed the artist who painted his 
sign to convey into the features of the lordly brute whose effigy it 
bore, as near a counterpart of his own face as his skill could com- 
pass and devise. He is such a swigger of beer, that most of his 
faculties have been utterly drowned and washed away, except the 
one great faculty of sleep, which he retains in surprising perfection. 
(Ch. xxxi.) 

Chester, Mr., afterwards Sir John. An elegant and punctili- 
ously polite, but thoroughly heartless and unprincipled gentleman ; 
intended as a portrait of Lord Chesterfield (Philip Dormer Stan- 
hope), who was equally celebrated for his polished grace of man- 
ner, bis loose morality, and his love of intrigue. Mr. Chester at- 
tempts, but unsuccessfully, to break off the match between his son 
Edward and Miss Emma Haredale, both because the girl is poor, 
and because he is bent on an alliance which will add to his own 
wealth and importance. (Ch. x-xii, xiv, xv, xxiii, xxiv, xxvi- 
XXX, xxxii, xl, xliii, liii, Ixxv, Ixxxi.) See Haredale (Mr. Geof- 
frey), Hugh. 

Chester, Edward. His son ; in love with and finally married to 
Miss Emma Haredale. (Ch. i, ii, v, vi, xiv, xv, xix, xxix, xxxii, 
Ixvii, Ixxi, Ixxii, Ixxix, Ixxxii.) 

Cobb, Tom. General chandler and post-office keeper ; a crony of 
old Willet's, and a frequent visitor at the Maypole Inn. (Ch. i, 
XXX, xxxiii, liv.) 

Conway, GeneraL A member of parliament, and an opponent 
of Lord George Gordon. [Not a fictitious character.'] (Ch. 
xlix.) 

Daisy, Solomon. Parish clerk and bell-ringer of Chigwell; a 
little man, with little round, black, shining eyes like beads, and 
studded all down his rusty black coat, and his long flapped waist- 
coat, with queer little buttons, like nothing except his eyes, but so 
like them, that he seems all eyes from head to foot. (Ch. i--iii, xi, 
XXX, xxxiii, liv, Ivi.) 

Dennis, Ned. Ringleader of the Gordon rioters. Having for- 



merly been a hangman, and therefore entertaining a profound re- 
spect for the law, he desires that every thing should be done in a 
constitutional way. Yet, as an adept in the art of " working peo- 
ple off," he thinks it the better and neater method to hang every- 
body who stands in the way of the rioters ; and he is frequently dis- 
gusted by the refusal of his fellow-insurgents to adopt his sugges- 
tions. When the riot is at last suppressed, and Dennis is arrested, 
and condemned to death, he suddenly discovers that the satisfaction 
which he has experienced for so many years in executing the capi- 
tal sentence upon his fellow-mortals was, in all probability, not 
shared by the subjects of his skill ; and he shrinks in the most ab- 
ject fear from his fate. 

" No reprieve, no reprieve I Nobody comes near us. There 's only the night 
left now I " moaned Dennis faintly, as he wrung his hands. "Do you think 
they '11 reprieve me in the night, brother ? I 've known reprieves come in the 
night, afore now. I 've known 'em come as late as five, six, and seven o'clock 
in the morning. Don't you think there 's a good chance yet ; don't you ? Say 
you do. Say you do, young man," whined the miserable creature, with an im- 
ploring gesture towards Barnaby, '* or I shall go mad ! " 

" Better be mad than sane here," said Hugh. " Go mad ! " 

<' But tell me what you think. Somebody tell me what he thinks I " cried the 
wretchedobject, — so mean and wretched and despicable, that even Pity's self 
might have turned away at sight of such a being in the likeness of a man. 
" Is n't there a chance for me ? is n't there a good chance for me ? Is n't it 
likely they may be doing this to frighten me ? Don't you think it is ? Oh 1 " 
he almost shrieked as he wrung his hands, " won't anybody give me comfort ? " 

" You ought to be the best, instead of the worst," said Hugh, stopping before 
him. " Ha,^a, ha 1 See the hangman when it comes home to him I " 

'^Youdoirt know what it is," cried Dennis, actually writhing as he spoke: 
" I do. That I should come to be worked off I — I, I, — that I should come 1 " 

" And why not ? " said Hugh, as he thrust back his matted hair to get a bet- 
ter view of his late associate. " How often, before I knew your trade, did I 
hear you talking of this as if it was a treat ! " 

" I ain't unconsistent I " screamed the miserable creature. " I 'd talk so 
again, if I was hangman. Some other man has got my old opinions at this 
minute. That makes it worse. Somebody 's longing to work me off. I know 
by myself that somebody must be." 

" He '11 soon have his longing," said Hugh, resuming his walk. " Think of 
that, and be quiet." 

(Ch. xxxvi-xl, xliv, xlix, 1, lii-liv, lix, Ix, Ixiii-lxv, Ixix-lxxi, 
Ixxiv-lxxvii.) 
Gashford, Mr. Lord George Gordon's secretary ; a tall, bony, 
high-shouldered, and angular man. 

His dress, in imitation of his superior, was demure and staid in the extreme; 
hiS manner formal and constrained. This gentleman had an overhanging brow, 
great hands and feet and ears, and a pair of eyes that seemed to have made an 
17* 



198 tS-tit 23fcltens ISictionars. 

unnatural retreat into his head, and to have dug themselves a cave to hide in. 
His manner was smooth and humble, but very sly and slinking. He wore the 
aspect of a man that was always lying in wait for something that wouldn 't come 
to pass; hut he looked patient (very patient), and fawned like a spaniel dog. 

' (Ch. xxxv-xxxviii, xliii, xliv, xlviii-1, lii, liii, Ixxi, Ixxxii.) 
Gilbert, Mark. One of the " Prentice Knights, or United Bull- 
Dogs," a secret society formed by the apprentices of London for 
the purpose of resisting the tyranny of their masters. On the 
occasion of Mark's admission to this organization, he is thus 
described : — 

" Age nineteen. Bound to Thomas Curzon, hosier, Golden Fleece, Aldgate. 
Loves Curzon's daughter. Cannot say that Curzon's daughter loves him. 
Should think it probable. Curzon pulled his ears last Tuesday week." 
(Ch. viii, xxxix.) 

Gordon, Colonel. Member of parliament, and an opponent of 
his kinsman Lord George Gordon. (Ch. xlix.) 

Gordon, Lord George. Third son of Cosmo George, third duke 
of Gordon; born Sept. 19, 1750; noted as the chief instigator 
of the Protestant or "No Popery" riots, which took place in 
London in 1780, and were a result of the passage of a bill by par- 
liament relieving Roman Catholics from certain disabilities and 
penalties. In these riots (which lasted for several days) many 
Roman-Catholic churches were destroyed, as were also Newgate 
Prison, the residence of Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, and numer- 
ous other private dwellings. Lord George was arrested on a charge 
of high treason, and was committed to the Tower ; bi^, the offence 
not having been proved, he was acquitted. He died Nov. 1, 1793. 
Dickens's descriptions of this misguided man, and of the dreadful 
scenes in which he was the chief actor, are not only graphic and 
vigorous, but faithful to the facts of history. (Ch. xxxv-xxxvii, 
xliii, xlviii-1, Ivii, Ixxiii, Ixxxii.) 

Green, Tom. A soldier. (Ch. Iviii.) 

Grip. A raven ; the constant companion of Barnaby Rudge ; a very 
knowing bird, supposed to be a hundred and twenty years old, or 
thereabouts. 

The widow tried to make light of Barnaby's remark, and endeavored to divert 
his attention to some new subject, — too easy a task at all times, as she knew. 
His supper done, Barnaby, regardless of her entreaties, stretched himself on the 
mat before the fire (Grip perched upon his leg), and divided his time between 
dozing in the grateful warmth, and endeavoring (as it presently appeared) to 
recall a new accomplishment he had been studying all day. 

A long and profound silence ensued, broken only by some change of position 
on the part of Barnaby, whose eyes were still wide open, and intently fixed upoo 



aSarnaijg 2Slutrge. 199 

the fire, or by an effbrt of recollection on the part of Grip, who would cry in a 
low voice from time to time, " Polly, put the ket " — and there stop short, forget 
ting the remainder, and go off in a doze again. 

After a long interval, Barnaby's breathing grew more deep and regular, and 
his eyes were closed. But even then the unquiet spirit of the raven interposed. 
" Polly, put the ket," — cried Grip ; and his master was broad awake again. 

At length he slept soundly; and the bird, with his bill sunk upon his breast, 
his breast itself puffed out into a comfortable alderman-like form, and his bright 
eye growing smaller and smaller, really seemed to be subsiding into a state of 
repose. Now and then he muttered in a sepulchral voice, " Polly, put the ket," — 
but very drowsily, and more like a drunken man than a reflecting raven. 

The widow, scarcely venturing to breathe, rose from her seat. The man 
glided from the closet, and extinguished the candle. 

« — tie on," cried Grip, suddenly struck with an idea, and very much excited. 
«< — tie on. Hurrahl Polly, put the ket-tle on : we '11 all have tea. Polly, putthe 
ket-tle on : we '11 all have tea. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah I I 'm a devil, I 'm a devil I 
I 'm a ket-tle on. Keep up your spirits. Never say die. Bow wow wow I 
I 'm a devil, I 'm a ket-tle, I 'm a, — Polly, put the ket-tle on : we '11 all have 
tea." 

They stood rooted to the ground, as though it had been a voice from the 
grave. 

But even this failed to awaken the sleeper. He turned over towards the fire ; 
his arm fell to the ground; and his head drooped heavily upon it. 

(Ch. V, vi, X, xvii, xxv, xlv-xlvii, Ivii, Iviii, Ixviii, Ixxiii, Ixxv- 
Ixxvii, Ixxix, Ixxxii.) 

Grueby, John. Servant to Lord George Gordon ; a square-built, 
strong-made, bull-necked fellow, of the true English breed, self- 
possessed, hard-headed, and imperturbable. (Ch. xxxv, xxxvii, 
xxxviii, Ivii, Ixvi, Ixxxii.) 

Haredale, Mr. Geoffrey. A country gentleman, burly in person, 
stern in disposition, rough and abrupt in manner, but thoroughly 
honest and unselfish. He resides at a mansion called " The War- 
ren," on the borders of Epping Forest, and not far from the May- 
pole Inn. Being a rigid Roman Catholic, he is made a special 
object of vengeance by the Lord Gordon mob. He kills Sir John 

• Chester in a duel, and thereupon quits England forever, ending his 
days in the seclusion of an Italian convent. (Ch. i, x— xii, xiv, xx, 
xxv-xxvii, xxix, xxxiv, xlii, xliii, Ivi, Ixi, Ixvi, Ixvii, Ixxi, Ixxvi, 
Ixxix, Ixxxi, Ixxxii.) 

Haredale, Miss Emma. His niece ; daughter of Mr. Reuben 
Haredale, who is mysteriously murdered. She is finally married to 
Edward Chester. (Ch. i, iv, xii-xv, xx, xxv, xxvii-xxix, xxxii, 
lix, Ixx, Ixxi, Ixxix, Ixxxi.) 

Hugh. A wild, athletic, gypsy-like young fellow, with something 
fierce and sullen in his features. He is at first a hostler at the 



200 2Ct)e ©icltens Bfctfonarj. 

Maypo]e Inn, and afterwards a leader in tlie Gordon riots. He 

s turns out to be a natural son of Sir Jolin Chester, who, when urged 

to save him from the gallows, treats the appeal with the utmost 

sang fr Old ^ and permits him to be executed, without making the least 

effort in his behalf. (Ch. x-xii, xx, xxii, xxiii, xxviii, xxix, xxxiv, 

XXXV, xxxvii-xl, xliv, xlviii-1, lii-liv, lix, Ix, Ixiii-lxv, Ixvii-lxix, 

Ixxiv, Ixxvi-lxxviii.) 

" Hugh is a noble conception. His fierce exultation in his animal powers, his sub- 
sen'iency to the smooth Chester, his mirthful contempt and patronage of Tappertit, 
and his brutal yet firm courage in the hour of death, form a picture to be set in dia- 
monds." — E. A. Poe. 

Langdale, Mr. A vintner and distiller; a portly, purple-faced, 
and choleric old gentleman. (Ch. xiii, Ixi, Ixvi, Ixvii, Ixxxi.) 

Miggs, Miss. The single domestic servant of Mrs. Varden. 

This Miggs was a tall young lady, very much addicted to pattens in private 
life; slender and shrewish, of a rather uncomfortable figure, and, though not 
absolutely ill-looking, of a sharp and acid visage. As a general principle and 
abstract proposition, Miggs held the male sex to be utterly contemptible, 
and unworthy of notice; to be fickle, false, base, sottish, inclined to perjury, and 
wholly undeserving. When particularly exasperated against them (which, 
scandal said, was when Sim Tappertit slighted her most), she was accustomed to 
wish, with great emphasis, that the whole race of women could but die off in 
order that the men might be brought to know the real value of the blessings by 
which they set so little store : nay, her feeling for her order ran so high, that she 
sometimes declared, if she could only have good security for a fair round num- 
ber — say ten thousand — of young virgins following her example, she would, 
to spite mankind, hang, drown, stab, or poison herself with a joy past all ex- 
pi'ession. 

When the Gordon riot breaks out, she forsakes her old master 
and mistress to follow and watch over Mr. Sim Tappertit. After 
the dispersion of the rioters, Miss Miggs returns to Mr. Varden's 
house, quite as a matter of course, expecting to be re -instated in 
her old situation. But Mrs. Varden, who is at first amazed at her 
audacity, orders her to leave the house instanter ; whereupon the 
young lady relieves her mind after this wise : — 

**I 'm quite delighted, I 'm sure, to find sich independency; feeling sorry, 
though, at the same time, mim, that you should have been forced into submissions 
when you could n't help yourself. He, he, he 1 It must be great vexations, 'spe- 
cially considering how ill you always spoke of Mr. Joe, to have him for a son-in-law 
at last ; and I wonder Miss Dolly can put up with him, either, after being off and 
on for so many years with a coachmaker. But I have heerd say that the coach- 
maker thought twice about it, — he, he, he I — and that he told a young man as was 
a friend of his, that he hoped he knowed better than to be drawed into that; 
though she and all the family did pull uncommon strong." 

Here she paused for a reply, and, receiving none, went on as before : — 

" I have heerd say, mim, that the illnesses of some ladies was all pretensions 



and that they could faint away stone-dead whenever they had the inclinations 
80 to do. Of course, I never see sich cases with my own eyes : ho, no I — he, he, 
he! — nor master, neither : ho, no! He, he, he! I have heerd the neighbors 
make remark as some one as tliey was acquainted with was a poor good-natur'd, 
mean-spirited creetur as went out fishing for a wife one day, and caught a Tar- 
tar. Of course, I never, to my knowledge, see the poor person himself; nor did 
you, neither, mim : ho, no ! I wonder who it can be ; don't you, mim ? No doubt 
you do, mim. Ho, yes I He, he, he I " 

Cast upon a tliankless, undeserving world, and baffled in all her 
schemes, matrimonial and otherwise, Miss Miggs turns sharper and 
sourer than ever. It happens, however, that, just at this time, a 
female turnkey is wanted for the county Bridewell, and a day and 
hour is appointed for the inspection of candidates. Miss Miggs 
attends, and is instantly chosen from a hundred and twenty-four 
competitors, and installed in office, which she holds till her decease, 
more than thirty years afterwards. (Ch. vii, ix, xiii, xviii, xix, xxii, 
xxvii, xxxi, xxxvi, xxxix, xli, li, Ixiii, Ixx, Ixxi, Ixxx, Ixxxii.) 

"That miracle of mingled weakness, prudery, and malice, — the incomparable Miss 
Miggs. She is an elderly maiden, who, by some strange neglect on the-part of mankind, 
has been allowed td remain unmarried. This neglect might in some small degree be ac- 
couDted for by the fact that her person and disposition camo within the range of Mr. 
Tappertit's epithet of ' scraggy.' She had various ways of wreaking her hatred upon 
the other sex, the most cruel of which was in often honoring them with her company 
and discourse. . . . When she watches at the window for the return of Sim Tappertit, 
with the intention of betraying him, she is described as ' having an expression of face 
in which a great number of opposite ingredients, such as mischief, cunning, malice, tri- 
umph, and patient expectation, were all mixed up together in a kind of physiognomical 
punch ; ' and as composing herself to wait and listen ' like some fair ogress who has set 
a trap, and was waiting for a nibble from a plump young traveller.' Dickens, in this 
character, well represents how such seemingly insignificant malignants as Miss Miggs 
can become the pest of families, and that, though full of weakness and malignity, they 
can be proud of their virtue and religion, and make slander the prominent element of 
their pious conversation." — E. P. Whipple, 

Parkes, Phil. A ranger who frequents the Maypole Inn ; a tall man, 
very taciturn, and a profound smoker. (Ch. i, xi, xxx, xxxiii, liv.) 

Peak. Sir John Chester's valet. (Ch. xxiii, xxiv, xxxii, Ixxv, Ixxxii.) 

Recruiting Sergeant, The. A military officer in whose regi- 
ment Joe Willet enlists. (Ch. xxxi.) 

Budge, Barnaby. A fantastic youth, half-crazed, half-idiotic. 
Wandering listlessly about at the time of the Gordon riot, he is 
overtaken by the mob, and eagerly joins them in their work of de- 
struction. His strength and agility make him a valuable auxiliary ; 
and he continues fighting, until he is at last overpowered, arrested, 
and condemned to death. " Aha, Hugh ! " says he to his companion 
on the eve of their execution, "we shall know what makes the 
Btars shine now." A pardon is finally procured for him by Mr. 



202 8ri)e ©fcfeens jafctfonarg, 

Varden. (Ch. iii-vi, x-xii, xvii, xxv, xxvi, xlv-1, lii, liii, Ivli, Iviii, 
Ix, Ixii, Ixv, Ixviii, Ixix, Ixxiii, Ixxv-lxxvii, Ixxix, Ixxxii.) 

" There never was an idiot so bountifully endowed with practical wisdom and heroic 
courage, with such fine feelings and such fidelity, as ' Barnaby ; ' but then one does not 
judge him by ordinary rules. ... It is interesting to contrast with the realistic criminals 
whom Mr. Dickens depicted in later times the criminal of the romance, the melo-dra- 
matic Rudge, forever haunted by his imagination, — precisely as we are told by persons 
familiar with them murderers are not haunted, — leading a self-tortured life for years, 
and then impelled to visit the scene of his crime ; at which ideal of a rufBan who had 
escaped detection by a very clever ruse modem experience would smile. B ut we do 
not smile: the story is too much for us; it is too powerful to be resisted, though it Is 
utterly untrue ; therefore we regard it as one of the finest romances ever written." — 
Dublin Review, vol. CIX. 

Budge, Mrs. Mother of Barnaby. (Ch. iv-vi, xvi, xvii, xxv, 
xxvi, xlii, xlv-1, Ivii, Ixii, Ixix, Ixxiii, Ixxvi, Ixxix, Ixxxii.) 

Rudge, Mr. Father of Barnaby, and a former steward of Reuben 
Haredale's. One morning in the year 1733, Mr. Haredaleis found 
murdered, and the steward is missing. Afterwards a body is dis- 
covered, which is supposed to be that of Rudge ; but it is so dis- 
figured as not to be recognizable. After the lapse of many years, 
it is proved that Rudge was the real murderer, and that the body 
which was taken to be his was really that of another of his vic- 
tims. He is finally captured and executed. (Ch. i-iii, v, vi, xvi- 
xviii, xxxiii, xlv, xlvi, Iv, Ivi, Ixi, Ixii, Ixv, Ixviii, Ixix, Ixxiii, 
Ixxvi.) 

Stagg. A blind man ; proprietor of a drinking-cellar and skittle- 
ground. (Ch. viii, xviii, xlv, xlvi, Ixii, Ixix.) 

Tuppertit, Simon. Apprentice to Mr. Gabriel Varden, and a 
sworn enemy to Joe Willet, who has rivalled him in the affections 
of his master's daughter Dolly. 

Sim . . . was an old-fashioned, thin-faced, sleek-haired, sharp-nosed, small- 
eyed little fellow, very little more than five feet high, and thoroughly convinced 
in his own mind that he was above the middle size, — rather tall, in fact, than 
otherwise. Of his figure, which was well enough formed, though somewhat of 
the leanest, he entertained the highest admiration; and with his legs, which, 
in knee-breeches, were perfect curiosities of littleness, he was enraptured to a 
degree amounting to enthusiasm. . . . Add to this that he was in years just 
twenty, in his looks much older, and in conceit at least two hundred ; that he 
had no objection to be jested with touching his admiration of his master's 
daughter; and had even, when called upon at a certain obscure tavern to 
pledge the lady whom he had honored with his love, toasted with many winks 
and leers a fair creature, whose Christian name, he said, began with a D [Dolly 
Varden]. 

Mr. Tappertit is captain of the " Prentice Knights *' (afterwards 

called the " United Bull-Dogs"), whose objects were vengeance on 



their tyrant masters (of whose grievous and insupportable oppres- 
sion no 'prentice could entertain a moment's doubt), and the res- 
toration of their ancient rights and holidays. He takes a leadino- 
part in the Lord George Gordon riots, but finally receives a gun- 
shot wound in his body, and has his precious legs crushed into 
shapeless ugliness. After being removed from a hospital to prison, 
and thence to his place of trial, he is discharged, by proclamation, 
on two wooden legs. By the advice and aid of his old master, to 
whom he applies for assistance, he is established in business as a 
shoe-black, and quickly secures a great run of custom : so that he 
thinks himself justified in taking to wife the widow of an eminent 
bone and rag collector. (Ch. iv, vii-ix, xviii, xix, xxii, xxiv, xxvii, 
xxxi, xxxvi, xxxix, xlviii-lii, lix, Ix, Ixii, Ixx, Ixxi, Ixxxii.) 

Varden, Dolly. A bright, fresh, coquettish girl, the very imper- 
sonation of good-humor and blooming beauty. She is finally mar- 
ried to Joe Willet. (Ch. iv, xiii, xix-xxii, xxvii, xxxi, lix, Ixx, Ixxi.) 

Varden, Gabriel. A frank, hearty, honest old locksmith, at 
charity with all mankind ; father to Dolly Varden. (Ch. ii-vii, 
xiii, xiv, xix, xxi, xxii, xxvi, xxvii, xli, xlii, li, Ixiii, Ixiv, Ixxi, Ixxii, 
Ixxiv-lxxvi, Ixxix, Ixxx, Ixxxii.) 

Varden, Mrs. Martha. His wife. 

Mrs. Varden was a lady of what is commonly called an uncertain temper, — 
a phrase, which, being interpreted, signifies a temper tolerably certain to make 
everybody more or less uncomfortable. Thus it generally happened, that, 
when other people were merry, Mrs. Varden was dull; and that, when other 
people were dull, Mrs. Varden was disposed to be amazingly cheerful. Indeed, 
the worthy housewife was of such a capriojoi,|s_naiiirp, that she not only at- 
tained a higher pitch of genius than Macbeth, in respect of her ability to be 
wise, amazed, temperate and furious, loyal and neutral, in an instant, but would 
sometimes ring the changes backwards and forwards on all possible moods and 
flights in one short quarter of an hour; performing, as it were, a kind of triple 
bob major on the peal of instruments in the female belfry, with a skilfulness 
and rapidity of execution that astonished all who heard her. 

It had been observed in this good lady (who did not want for personal at- 
tractions, being plump and buxom to look at, though, like her fair daughter, 
somewhat short in stature), that this uncertainty of disposition strengthened 
and increased with her temporal prosperity; and divers wise men and matrons 
on friendly terms with the locksmith and his family even went so far as to as- 
sert, that a tumble down some half-dozen rounds in the world's ladder — such 
as the breaking of the bank in which her husband kept his money, or some lit- 
tle fall of that kind — would be the making of her, and could hardly fail to ren- 
der her one of the most agreeable companions in existence. 

(Ch. iv, vii, xiii, xix, xxi, xxii, xxvii, xxxvi, xli, xlii, li, Ixxi, 
Ixxii, Ixxx, Ixxxii.) 



204 5r!)e 29icfeens Btctionar^. 

Willet, John. Landlord of the Maypole Inn at Chigwell ; a 
burly, large-headed man, with a fat face, which betokened profound 
obstinacy and slowness of apprehension, combined with a very 
strong reliance upon his own merits. 

The Maypole was an old building with more gable-ends than a lazy man 
would care to count on a sunuy day ; huge zigzag chimneys, out of which it 
seemed as if smoke could not choose but come in more than naturally fantastic 
shapes imparted to it in its tortuous progress ; and vast stables, gloomy, ruin- 
ous, and empty. The place was said to have been built in the days of King 
Henry the Eighth. ... Its windows were old diamond-pane lattices; its floors 
were sunken and uneven; its ceiling blackened by the hand of time, and heavy 
with massive beams. Over the doorway was an ancient porch quaintly and 
grotesquely carved; and here, on summer evenings, the more favored customers 
smoked and drank, — ay, and sung many a good song too, sometimes, — repos- 
ing on two grim-looking, high-backed settles, which, like the twin dragons of 
some fairy-tale, guarded the entrance to the mansion. . . . All bars are snug 
places; but the Maypole's was the very snuggest, cosiest, and completest bar 
that ever the wit of man devised. Such amazing bottles in old oaken pigeon- 
holes I such sturdy little Dutch kegs, ranged in rows on shelves I so many lem- 
ons, hanging in separate nets, and forming the fragrant grove already mentioned 
in this chronicle, suggestive, with goodly cans and snowy sugar stowed away 
hard by. of punch idealized beyond all mortal knowledge I such closets I such 
presses I such places for putting things away in hollow window-seats 1 — all 
crammed to the throat with eatables, drinkables, or savory condiments; last- 
ly, and to crown aU, as typical of the immense resources of the establishment, 
and its defiance to all visitors to cut and come again, such a stupendous cheese ! 

(Ch. i-iii, x-xiv, xix, xx, xxiv, xxix, xxx, xxxiii-xxxv, liv-lvi, 

Ixxii, Ixxviii, Ixxxii.) 

" Old Willet is not surpassed by any character, even among those of Dickens. He 
is nature itself; yet a step farther would have placed him in the class of caricatures. 
His combined conceit and obtusity are indescribably droll; and his peculiar mis- 
directed energy, when aroused, is one of the most exquisite touches in all humorous 
painting." — E. A. Foe. 

Willet, Joe. Son of John Willet ; a broad-shouldered, strapping 
young fellow, whom it pleases his father still to consider a little 
boy, and to treat accordingly. After being bullied, badgered, wor- 
ried, fretted, and brow-beaten, until he can endure it no longer, 
Joe runs away and joins the army. At the time of the London 
riots, however, he turns up, and renders good service to his friends, 
notwithstanding the loss of an arm at the siege of Savannah. 
The father is only too glad to welcome him back ; never speaks of 
him to a stranger afterwards, without saying proudly, " My son's 
arm was took off at the defence of the — Salwanners — in 
America, where the war is." Joe finally marries Dolly Varden, 
whom he has long loved. (Ch. i-iii, xiii, xiv, xix, xxi, xxii, xxx, 
xxxi, xli, Iviii, Ixvii, Ixxi, Ixxii, Ixxviii, Ixxx, Ixxxii.) 



Sttatnaljg aS-uTrge. 205 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS, 



Chapter I. John Willet, landlord of the Maypole, and his guests, discuss the weat!*- 
er; a suspicious-looking stranger asts questions about the Warren, and is answered by 
Joe Willet; the younger guest sets out to walk to London through the storm; Joe Willet 
Is lectured for his forwardness by his father and his friends ; Solomon Daisy relates the 
Btory of the murder of Mr. Reuben Haredale twenty-two years before.— II. The suspicious- 
looking stranger sets out for London, and rides furiously through the darkness; he en- 
counters Gabriel Varden on the road ; Gabriel goes back to the Maypole. — III. Joe Willet 
rebels against his father's authority, and threatens to run away ; Gabriel advises him to 
think better of it; going on to London, Gabriel is attracted by loud outcries, and finds 
BarnabyRudge standing over a bloody and apparently lifeless body. — IV. Mr. Varden's 
home described; Mr. Simon Tappertit is introduced; Mr. Varden gives his daughter an 
account of his last night's adventure on the road, and also his difficulty in finding Miss 
Emma Haredale; Dolly's confusion on hearing of Joe Willet; the jealousy of Mr. Tap- 
pertit is aroused. — V. Varden goes to Mrs. Rudge's to inquire about Mr. Edward Chester, 
the young man whom he rescued ; he is astonished to find her receiving a call ftom the 
ruffian he encountered on the road. — VI. She declines to make any explanation, but begs 
him to keep silent ; Gabriel sees Mr. Edward Chester, who gives him an account of his 
adventure ; and Varden recognizes in his assailant the same man he himself met ; Bamaby 
and his raven. — VII. Gabriel's reception by Mrs. Varden and Miggs on his return home. — 
VIII. Sim Tappertit secretly leaves the house, and goes to the rendezvous of the " 'Prentice 
Knights," where he is received by Stagg; the " 'Prentice Knights " admit a new member; 
confidence between the captain and the novice. — IX. Miss Miggs witnesses Sim's exit from 
the house, and receives him on his return. — X. Mr. John Chester visits the Maypole, and 
sends a note to Mr. Haredale, requesting him to meet him there ; Bamaby returns with Mr. 
Haredale's answer. — XI. Speculations of Mr. Willet's customers in regard to the meeting of 
Mr. Chester and Mr. Haredale ; interview between these gentlemen, in which they discuss 
the attachment of Mr. Edward Chester and Miss Emma Haredale, and agree, though ou 
difi'erent grounds, to oppose it. — XII. Surprise of John Willet at finding Mr. Chester unin- 
jured. — XIII. Joe Willet sets out for London to pay his father's rent ; he goes to the Warren 
for any message Miss Emma may have for Edward Chester ; Joe goes to the Vardens', where 
the bouquet he had prepared for Dolly meets an inglorious fate ; Dolly goes to a paity, and 
Joe goes home disappointed. — XIV. On the road home Joe is joined by Mr. Edward Chester ; 
Edward calls on Miss Haredale, and is dismissed from the house by her uncle ; finding his 
father at the Maypole, Edward avoids meeting him, and returns to town. — XV. Interview 
between Mr. John Chester and his son, wherein he explains the poverty of their resources 
*nd the necessity of his son's forming a wealthy marriage. — XVI. Condition of London 
streets at the time of the story; appearance among the outcasts of the ruffian who as- 
saulted Mr. Chester; he follows Mrs. Rudge to her home, and gains admittance. — XVII. 
Terror of the widow lest he should be seen by her idiot son ; Barnaby tells his mother of 
.lis search for the robber, who, concealed in a closet, overhears their conversation ; the 
ruffian threatens her with a sure and slow revenge, if she betrays him, and leaves her. — 
XVIII. After wandering thi'ough the streets nearly all night, he sees the departure of Sim 
Tappertit from the rendezvous of the 'Prentices, and obtains shelter with Stagg. — XIX. 
Edward Chester calls at Mr. Varden's to request Dolly to be the bearer of a letter to Miss 
Haredale ; Mr. Varden proposes to take his wife and daughter to the Maypole, and how 
Mrs. Varden receives the proposal ; they arrive at the Maypole; Dolly goes to the Warren, 
carrj'ing Mr. Edward's letter. — XX. Leaving Miss Haredale, on her return with the answer 
she is met by Mr. Haredale, who questions her in regard to her errand, and proposes to her 
to become Miss Haredale's companion ; returning to the Maypole, Dolly is assaulted by 
ilugh, and rescued by Joe Willet. — XXI. She discovers the loss of her bracelet and of 
Miss Haredale's letter; Hugh questions her about the man who assaulted her, secretly 
warning her not to betray him; the Vardens returning home, Joe accompanies them on 
the way, and they are soon joined by Hugh. — XXII. Hugh rides back with Joe ; Miggs 
18 



206 STJe i3icltcns 33fctfonacs. 

'epea ts Dolly's adventure to Mr. Tappertit, ■who denounces Joe. — XXIII. Hugh waits upon 
Mr. John Chester, and gives him Miss Haredale's letter to his son, telling him how he 
obtained it; how Mr. Chester received it; and how he cautioned Hugh about robbing on 
the highway. —XXIV. Mr. Tappertit calls upon Mr. Chester, and complains of the treat- 
ment he has received from his son ; recommends him to see Mrs. Vardcn, and prevent 
Dolly's being a go-between for the lovers ; and warns him against the character of Joe. — 
XXV. Mrs. Eudge and Bamaby go to Chigwell; she has an interview with Mr. Haredale, 
and rejects the assistance she has received from him since her husband's murder, for rea- 
sons which she declines to give. — XXVI. Mr. Haredale informs Varden of the singular 
conduct of Mrs. Kudge, and Mr. Varden gives him an account of his adventure with the 
ruffian, and of Mrs. Rudge's conduct towards him ; they go to Mrs. Rudge's house together, 
and find Mr. John Chester there alone, who informs them of the disappearance of the 
widow and her son, but cannot tell where they have gone.— XXVII. Mr. Chester leaves 
them, and calls upon Mrs. Varden ; he makes insinuations against the character of his son, 
and requests Mrs. Varden's influence in breaking off the engagement between Edward and 
Miss Haredale. — XXVIII. Mr. Chester finds Hugh asleep on the stairway ; Hugh gives 
him a letter from Dolly Varden to Miss Haredale, which Mr. Chester receives with less 
pleasure than Hugh expects. — XXIX. Mr. Chester goes to Chigwell again, and stops at the 
Maypole; Hugh shows his activity; Joe Willet upon his " patrole; " Mr. Chester encoun- 
ters Miss Haredale, and endeavors to poison her mind against Edward; they arc interrupted 
by jMr. Haredale. — XXX. Joe rebels against his father's authority, punishes Tom Cobb 
for interfering, and escapes from the house. — XXXI. He meets a recruiting-sergeant; Joe 
seeks an interview with Dolly Varden, who seems indifferent to him, and he enlists. — 
XXXIl. Mr. Chester and his son have an interview, in which Edward gives his father 
offence, and is dismissed from his roof with his curse. — XXXIII. After an interval of five 
years, John Willet and his friends are sitting again in the public room of the Maypole, a 
severe storm raging without; sudden entrance of Solomon Daisy in great fright; he re- 
lates what he has just heard and seen at the church. — XXXIV. Mr. Willet resolves to 
communicate to Mr. Haredale what Daisy has witnessed, and summons Hugh to accompany 
him to the Warren ; Mr. Willet's story has a marked effect on Mr. Haredale. — XXXV. Re- 
turning home, Mr. Willet encountei's Lord George Gordon and his attendants, who go to 
the Maypole to spend the night ; interview between Lord George Gordon and his secretary ; 
John Grueby expresses his disgust at his lord's proceedings. — XXXVI. Lord George and 
his secretary in council consider the accessions to their cause in men and means; Gashford 
sowing seed. — XXXVII. Lord George Gordon's cause and its progress; Lord George and 
his attendants journey to London ; interview between Gashford and Dennis, in which 
Dennis shows his desire for active work in the No-Popery cause. — XXXVIII. Hugh pre- 
sents himself, bringing one of the handbills dropped by Gashford, and is enrolled in the 
Great Protestant Association ; Hugh and Dennis take a look at the houses of parliament, 
and then repair to the Boot. —XXXIX. Mr. Tappertit bestows his patronage upon Hugh, 
and reminds him of former times; Dennis gives his companion some particulars of his 
trade, without exposing himself. — XL. Hugh makes a call at Sir John Chester's ; how Sir 
John obtained his title ; Hugh informs Sir John that he has joined the Protestant Associa- 
tion, and made the acquaintance of Dennis; Sir John's underhand plotting. —XLI. Mr. 
Varden defends himself for joining the Volunteers; Dolly questions her father about Mr. 
Hiiredale's absence from home; Dolly's agitation at her father's mention of Joe Willet. — 
XLII. Mr. Haredale meets the locksmith, and informs him that he intends to pass the 
night in watching at Mrs. Rudge's old home; and Mr. Varden leaves him there. — XLI II. 
How Mr. Haredale kept his watch ; Mr. Haredale encounters Sir John Chester and Gash- 
ford in Westminster Hall ; Lord George Gordon joins them, and Sir John introduces Mr. 
Haredale .is a Papist; Mr. Haredale, assaulted by the crowd, retaliates upon Gashford, 
and is rescued from the revenge of the mob by John Grueby. —XLIV. Gashford joins 
Dennis and Hugh, and incites them to punish Haredale. — XLV. Mrs. Rudge and Barnaby, 
n the quiet village home thej' had secured, are saluted bj' a blind wayfarer; he proves to 
be Stagg, and the agent of the ruffian from whom the widow had fled, in whose name ha 
demands twenty pounds. —XLVI. Stagg excites in Barnaby a desire to see the world ; the 
widow gives Stagg her little hoard, and early in the morning leaves her home with Barna- 
"♦y, to lose themselves in the crowds of London. — XLVII. Harsh treatment of the widow 



38arnal)s a&uHge. 207 

^Z:TJlZT^m"i'^^r::Z\y Gen«a. cLway and Colone, Gordon; tt« 

r Pn^hford finds Dennis and Hugh at the Boot, and puts them up to greater acts oi vio- 
tn?r LI Mr Tanpertit returns home, boasting of the part he has taken in the disturb- 

from Mr. y araen,jv no ut y Tappertit plan an expedition agaiust Mr. 

lomes to the inn, and is questioning Willet, when he is startled by the -ngmg of^he beil 
at the Warren ; the mob destroy Mr. Haredale's house, and disperse. - LVI. The Maypole 
c onfes on the way to London, meet Mr. Haredale on horseback, who takes D^^^^ ^Pf «^»"^ 
hm and hurries on to Chigwell; they find Mr. Willet bound as "- -«\f/* ^^ '^^^^^ 
TnS^, Air Haredale of the call he has received from " a dead man; Mr. Haredaie 
ha^t™ on torn r'uSns Of hishouse, follows a shadowy form up the tower-stairs and gra^^ 

pi^oner. LVni Barnabyno^^^^^^^^^^ 

rv^^Era^H^^^ale'^L^DoS-^^^^^^^^^ a carriage to ^-don, where ^h^y^onfine 
themfn a miserable cottage, and warn them against any disturbance.- LX Returning to 
the B ot!m ih and his companions find it in possession of the soldiers, and repair t^th^ 
Fleet Market- a one-armed man brings news of the arrest of Bamaby.-LXI. Mr. Hare- 

VarSns'he refuses to comply with their demand that he shall pick t^« /--^^^^^^^^ 
T.mnertit orders Miggs to be released, and sends her to jom Emma and Dolly. -LXIV. 

Joe W iiiei, wno, ul^feu YVTTT Bamabv and his father escape to Clerkenwell, 

proves to be the one-ai-med man. — LXVlll. uarnaoy anu ms i t- 

and find shelter in a poor shed; Bamaby rejoins the rioters on Holborn Hill just as Hugn 

SL^rr:and^Ya\rr„^n.^n,4,a..^^^^^^^^^^^ 



208 SCiJe 33icfeens ©fctfonar^. 

rescue the captives, and all repair to the Black Lion. — LXXII. Mr. Willet makes up hi« 
mind that Joe's arm has "been took oflF; " interview between Dolly and Joe. — LXXIII. 
Dispersion of the rioters ; interview between Bamaby and his mother in his dungeon ; 
Mrs. Rudge makes a vain attempt to move her husband to repentance. — LXXIV. Dennis's 
terror of Hugh on being confined in the same cell with him ; Hugh tells Dennis of his 
mother's fate. — LXXV. Gabriel Varden calls upon Sir John Chester, informs him that he 
believes Hugh to be his son, and begs Sir John to see him, and attempt to rouse in him a 
sense of his guilt; Sir John's callousness. — LXX VI. The execution of Rudge; agony of 
Dennis at his approaching fate. — LXXVII. Hugh and Dennis are led out to execution, and 
Hugh pleads for Bamaby. — LXXVIII. Dolly seeks out Joe AVillet, and declares her affec- 
tion for him.— LXXIX. Mr. Harcdaleand Edward Chester meet at Mr. Varden's house; 
Mr. Haredale now approves of Edward's attachment to his niece, and blesses their union ; 
Gabriel is brought home in triumph by the crowd, accompanied by Bamaby, for whom 
they have obtained a pardon. —LXXX. Happiness of the locksmith and his family ; Miggs 
receives her discharge from Mrs. Varden; Mr. Haredale visits the ruins of the Warren, 
where he encounters Sir John Chester, with whom he has an altercation, ending in a duel, 
In which Sir John is killed. — LXXXI. Subsequent career of the principal characters. 



"^ €\)xxBtma^ CaroU 



IN PROSE. 



BEING A GHOST-STORY OF CHRISTMAS. 



This work was "printed and published for the author by Messrs. Bradbury and 
Eruns, in December, 1843, in one volume, 12mo, with four colored etchings on 
Bteel by John Leech." In the Preface to the edition of the Christmas books pub- 
lished in 1850, Mr. Dickens said of this, as well as of the others, "My purpose 
was, in a whimsical kind of mask, which the good humor of the season justified, 
to awaken some loving and forbearing thoughts, never out of season in a Christian 
land." Lord Jeffrey wrote to the author respecting the present tale, " You may 
be sure you have done more good, and not only fastened more kindly feelings, but 
prompted more positive acts of benevolence, by this little publication, than can be 
traced to all the pulpits and confessionals since Christmas, 1842." 



CHAEAGTERS INTRODUCED. 



Belle. A comely matron, whom tlie Ghost of Christmas Past 

shows to Scrooge, and in whom he recognizes an old sweetheart. 

(Stave ii.) 
Caroline, Wife of one of Scrooge's debtors, shown to him in a 

dream by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. (Stave iv.) 
Cratchit, Bob. Clerk to Scrooge. He works in a dismal little 

cell, — a sort of tank leading out of Scrooge's counting-room. 

(Stave i, iii, iv, v.) See Scrooge. 

18« 209 



210 ^!)e Sicltens Bictfonarg. 

Cratchit, Mrs. His wife. (Stave iii, Iv.) 

Cratchit, Belinda. Their second daughter. (Stave iii, iv.) 

Cratchit, Martha. Their eldest daughter. (Stave iii, iv.) 

Cratchit, Master Peter. One of their sons. (Stave iii, iv.) 

Cratchit, Tim, called Tiny Tim. Their youngest son, a cripple. 
(Stave iii.) See Scrooge. 

Dilber, Mrs. A laundress whom the Ghost of Christmas Yet To 
Come shows to Scrooge. (Stave iv.) 

Fan. A little girl, Scrooge's sister (afterwards the mother of Fred, his 
nephew), whom the Ghost of Christmas Past shows to Scrooge in a 
dream. (Stave ii.) 

Fezziwig, Mr. A kind-hearted, jolly old merchant to whom 
Scrooge was a 'prentice when a young man, and whom the Ghost 
of Christmas Past brings before him in a vision when he has become 
an old man and a miser. (Stave ii.) 

Fezziwig, Mrs. His wife, " worthy to be his partner in every 
sense of the term." At the ball which her husband gave to his 
work-people on Christmas Eve, and which the Ghost of Christmas 
Past shows to old Scrooge, " in came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast, sub- 
stantial smile." (Stave ii.) 

Fezziwigs, The three Miss. Tlieir daughters, beaming and 
lovable, with six young followers, whose hearts they break. 
(Stave ii.) 

Fred. Scrooge's nephew. (Stave i, iii, v.) 

Ghost of Christmas Past. A phantom that shows Scrooge 
" shadows of things that have been" in his past life. (Stave ii.) 

Ghost of Christmas Present. A jolly spirit, glorious to see, 
of a kind, generous, hearty nature, who invisibly conducts old 
Scrooge through various scenes on Christmas Eve. (Stave iii.) 

Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always 
with a happy end. The spirit stood beside sick-beds, and they were cheerful ; 
on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by struggling men, and they 
were patient in their greater hope ; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, 
hospital, and jail, in misery's every refuge, where vain man, in his little brief 
authority, had not made fast the door, and barred the spirit out, he left his 
blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts. 

3-host of Christmas Yet To Come. An apparition which 
shows Scrooge " shadows of things that have not happened," but 
which may happen in the time before him. (Stave iv.) 

Joe. A junk-dealer, and a receiver of stolen goods, shown to old 
Scrooge by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. (Stave iv.) 



^ ®l)tistmas €acol. 2lJl 

Marley, The Ghost of Jacob. A spectre that visits Scrooge 
on Christmas Eve, and was in life his partner in business. (Stave 
i.) See Scrooge. 

Scrooge, Ebenezer. The hero of the " Carol ; " surviving part- 
ner of the firm of Scrooge and Marley. 

Oh I but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge I — a squeezing, 
wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner I Hard and sharp 
as flint, from Avhich no steel had ever struck out generous fire ; secret and self- 
contained and solitary as an oyster. The cold vi'ithin him froze his old fea- 
tures, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait, made his 
eyes red, his thin lips blue, and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A 
frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows and his wiry chin. He car- 
ried his own low temperature always about with him : he iced his office in the 
dog-days, and did n't thaw it one degree at Christmas. 

One Christmas Eve, after having declined in a very surly man- 
ner to accept an invitation to dinner the next day from his nephew 
Fred, and having reluctantly given his clerk, Bob Cratchit, permis- 
sion to be absent the whole day, Scrooge goes home to his lodg- 
ings, where, brooding over a low fire, he is visited by the ghost of 
Old Marley, who has been dead seven years. 

Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face. 

" Mercy I " he said. " Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me ?" 

*' Man of the worldly mind I " replied the ghost, " do you believe in me, or 
not?" 

** I do," said Scrooge. " I must. But why do spirits walk the earth ? and 
why do they come to me ? " 

''It is required of every man," the ghost returned, "that tbs spirit within 
him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide ; and, 
if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is 
doomed to wander through the world, — oh, woe is me I — and witness what it 
cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness." 

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain, and wrung its shadowy 
hands. 

" You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling. " Tell me why." 

" I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the ghost. " I made it link by 
link,»nd yard by yard : I girded it on of ray own free will, and of my own free 
will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you 7 " 

Scrooge trembled more and more. 

" Hear me 1 " cried the ghost. " My time is nearly gone. ... I am here to- 
night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate, — 
a chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer." 

" You were always a good friend to me," said Scrooge. " Thank'ee J " 

"You will be haunted," resumed the ghost, "by three spirits. . . . Expect 
the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls one." 

" Could n't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob ?" hinted Scrooge. 

" Expect the second on the next night at the same hour; the third upon the 
next night, when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see 



212 STSe Bfcltens IBfctionrtj. 

me no more ; and look, that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed 
between us I " . . . 

Scrooge became sensible of confused noises in the air, incoherent sounds of 
lamentation and regret, wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. 
The spectre, after listening a moment, joined in the mournful dirge, and floated 
out upon the bleak, dark night. 

Being much in need of repose, whether from the emotion he had 
undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the invisible 
world, or the lateness of the hour, or from all combined, Scrooge goes 
straight to bed, without undressing, and falls asleep upon the instant. 
When he awakes, it is nearly one. The hour soon strikes ; and, as the 
notes die away, the curtains of the bed are drawn aside, and a child 
stands before him. It is the Ghost of Christmas Past. The spirit bids 
him follow, and takes him to scenes long past. His childhood comes 
back to him. His sister Fan is before him. His old master Fezziwig 
re-appears, and Dick Wilkins, the companion of his boyish days. It is 
Christmas time ; and he and Dick and many are made happy by their 
master's liberality. The scene changes, and Scrooge sees himself in 
the prime of life. " His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later 
years, but it had begun to wear the signs of avarice ; " and a young 
girl stands beside him, and tells him that another idol, a golden one, 
has displaced her, and that she releases him. " May you be happy 
in the life you have chosen 1 " she says sorrowfully, and disappears. 
" Spirit ! " says Scrooge, " show me no more ; conduct me home." But 
the ghost points again, and the wretched man sees a happy home, — 
husband and wife, and many children ; and the matron is she whom 
he might have called his own. The spirit vanishes, and Scrooge, 
exhausted and drowsy, throws himself upon the bed, and sinks into a 
heavy sleep. He awakes as the bell is upon the stroke of one ; and the 
Ghost of Christmas Present is before him. Again he goes forth. 

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good spirit had in showing off this power 
of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy 
with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's ; for there he went, 
and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door 
the spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings 
of his torch. Think of that I Bob had but fifteen "Bob" a week himself; he 
pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name: and yet the Ghost 
of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house I 

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice- 
turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap, and make a goodly show for 
sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her 
daughters, also brave in ribbons ; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into 
the saucepan of potatoes, and, getting the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar 
Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day) into 



^ (8:f)xistmas €arol. 213 

bis mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his 
linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, 
came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose and 
known it for their own; and, basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these 
young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratcliit to the 
pkies; while he (not proud, although his collar near choked him) blew the fire 
until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let 

out, and peeled. ^ , , .. t.c a a 

" What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And 

your brother Tiny Tim ? And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by halt an 

hour ! " 

" Here 's Martha, mother I " said a girl, appearing as she spoke. 

« Here 's Martha, mother I » cried the two young Cratchits. " Hurrah I There 3 
«ttcA a goose, Martha I " 

" Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are 1 » said Mrs. Cratch^, 
kissing her a dozen times, and taking oif her shawl and bonnet for her with offi- 
cious zeal. , , . , /r J u„-? */» 

" We 'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, and had to 

clear away this morning, mother I " . , „ ^ ^ t,.. « c-+ ^o 

"Well, never mind, so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. bit ye 
down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm ; Lord bless ye ! " 

"No, no I There 's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were 
everywhere at once. " Hide, Martha, hide I " , . .i. 

So Martha hid herself; and in came little Bob the father, with at least three 
feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him, and his thread- 
bare clothes darned up and brushed to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his 
shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim I he bore a little crutch, and had his hmbs sup- 
ported by an iron frame. 

"Why, where 's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking round. 
"Not coming I" said Mrs. Cratchit. 

" Not comin<- 1 " said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits ; for he 
had been Tim's'blood-horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant. 
" Not coming upon Christmas Day I " 

Martha did n't like to see him disappointed, if it were only a joke : so she came 
out prematurely from behind the closet-door, and ran into his arms ; while the two 
young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he 
might hear the pudding singing in the copper. ^ r. , „• ^ 

" And how did little Tim behave? " asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had ralhed 
Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content. 

" As good as gold," said Bob, " and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sit- 
ting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told 
me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was 
a cripple, and it might be pleasant to thrp to remember.upon Christmas Day who 
made lame beggars walk, and blind men see." 

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he 
said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. ^. ^ ^ 

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor ; and back came Tmy Tim before 
another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the 
fire And while Bob, turning up his cuffs, - as if, poor fellow I they were capable 
of being made more shabby,- compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gm 
and lemons, and stirred it round and round, and put it on the hob to simmer, Mas- 
ter Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with 
;rhich they soon returned in high procession. 



214 ^i)f Bfcfeens ©fctfona ;2. 

Such a bustle ensued, that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all 
birds, — a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course, 
and, in truth, it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the 
gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed 
the potatoes with incredible vigor; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; 
Martha dusted the hotplates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at 
the table ; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting them- 
selves, and, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, 
lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the 
dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, 
as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it 
in the breast ; but when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued 
forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board ; and even Tiny Tim, excited 
by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and 
feebly cried, " Hurrah I " 

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the 
fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, ap- 
ples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. 
Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a 
circle, meaning half a one ; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display 
of glass, — two tumblers and a custard-cup without a handle. 

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would 
have done ; and Bob served it out with beapiing looks, while the chestnuts on the 
fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then T ob proposed : — 

" A merry Christmas to us all, my dears I God bless us I " "Which all the family 
re-echoed. 

" God bless us every one I " said Tiny Tim, the last of all. 

Bob then proposes the health of Mr. Scrooge ; and although his wife 
does not relish the toast, yet, at the solicitation of her husband, she 
consents to drink it for her husband's sake and the day's. 

Again the scene changes, and Scrooge finds himself in the bright 
gleaming house of his nephew, where a merry company are enjoying 
themselves, and are laughing at his surly refusal to join in their Christ- 
mas festivities. 

The third and last spirit comes at the same hour, and introduces 
itself as the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. It shows Scrooge a 
room in which a dead man is lying, and in which a motley crowd is 
joking and laughing, and casting lots for the very curtains surround- 
ing the bed on which the body lies! The spirit points to the head, 
covered by the thin sheet ; but Scrooge has no power to pull it aside, 
and view the features. As they leave the room, however, he beseeches 
the spirit to tell him what man it is who lies there so friendless and 
uncared for. The ghost does not answer, but conveys him hurriedly 
to a churchyard, neglected, overgrown with weeds, " choked up with 
♦■oo much burying, fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place ! ** 
The spirit stands among the graves, and points down to one; and 




BOB CRATCHIT AND TINY TIM. 



^ itf^xlsUxiKS Qtaxol, 215 

Scrooge beholds upon tlie stone of the neglected grave his own 

name, — " Ebenezer Scrooge." 

"Am /that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried upon his knees. 
The spirit pointed from the grave to him, and back again. 
" No, spirit ! Oh, no, no I " 
The finger still was there. 

Scrooge asks if there is no hope ; if these sights are the shadows 

of what must, or what ma?/ come to him ? The kind hand trembles ; 

and Scrooge sees room for hope. 

"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will 
live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The spirits of all three shall 
strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons they teach. Oh I tell me I may 
sponge away the writing on this stone I " . . . 

Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an 
alteration in the phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwin- 
dled down into a bed-post. 

Yes I and the bed-post was his own ; the bed was his own ; the room was his 
own, — best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own to make 
amends in I 

And he does make amends most amply. The lesson of his dream 

is not forgotten. He instantly sends a prize turkey to the Cratchits, 

twice the size of Tiny Tim, and gives half a crown to the boy that 

goes and buys it for him. He surprises his nephew by dining with 

him, and the next day raises Bob Cratchit's salary. In short, " he 

became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as 

the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough 

in the good old world." 

Tiny Tim. See Cratchtt, Tim. 

Topper, Mr. One of the guests at Fred's Christmas dinner-party ; 
a bachelor, who thinks himself a wretched outcast because he has no 
wife, and consequently gets his eye upon one of Scrooge's niece's 
sisters. (Stave iii.) 

Wilkins, Dick. A fellow 'prentice of Scrooge's. (Stave ii.) 



®;i)e Cife an& ^&t)enture0 of itlarttn 



This novel waa begun after Mr. Dickens's return from his first visit to 
America in 1841-42, and was issued in twenty monthly shilling parts, the first part 
making its appearance January 1, 1843. The work was completed and published in 
one volume in 1844. It was illustrated with twenty etchings on steel by " Phiz " 
(Hablot K. Browne), and was dedicated to Miss Burdett Coutts. 

" My main object in this story," says the author in his preface, " was to exhibit 
in a variety of aspects the commonest of all the vices; to show how selfishness 
propagates itself, and to what a grim giant it may grow from small beginnings." 
Another object was to call attention to " the want of sanitary improvements in the 
neglected dwellings of the poor," and to the system of ship-hospitals and the 
character of workhouse nurses. 

Fresh from his travels in the United States, and with a vivid recollection of the 
people he had met and the places he had seen, and especially of what was most 
ridiculous and most censurable in American life and manners, Mr. Dickens yield- 
ed to the temptation of making his hero follow his footsteps, and pass through a 
variety of experiences, — some trying, and some laughable, but all of them unneces- 
sary to the development of the main plot, and constituting a mere episode in the 
story, though, it must be confessed, an exceedingly humorous and interesting 
one. Of this portion of the book Mr. Dickens says in his preface, that it " is in 
no other respect a caricature than as it is an exhibition, for the most part, of the 
ludicrous side of the American character, — of that side which is, from its very 
nature, the most obtrusive, and the most likely to be seen by such travellers as 
young Martin and Mark Tapley. As I have never, in writing fiction, had any 
disposition to soften what is ridiculous or wrong at home, I hope (and believe) 
that the good-humored people of the United States are not generally disposed to 
quarrel with me for carrying the same usage abroad." Our author's American 
readers did, however, quarrel with him very generally and very seriously, as they 
had previously done for his strictures on their social usages and political institutions 
In his " American Notes." But, as Emerson says (in his essay on " Behavior," in 
216 



il^artfn <8:i)iif?letDft. 217 

"The Conduct of Life 'Os "the lesson was not quite lost: it held bad manners 
up, so that the churls could see the deformity." On his second visit to the United 
States, Mr. Dickens frankly and gracefully, and " as an act of plain justice and 
honor," bore testimony (in his farewell speech at New York, April 18, 18G8) to the 
astonishing progress which had taken place in the country during the quarter of a 
century that had elapsed since his first visit. It is " a duty," he said, " with which 
I henceforth charge myself, not only here, but on every suitable occasion whatso- 
ever and wheresoever, to express my high and grateful sense of my second recep- 
tion in America, and to bear my honest testimony to the national generosity and 
magnanimity; also to declare how astounded I have been by the amazing 
changed that I have seen around me on every side, — changes moral, changes 
physical, changes in the amount of land subdued and peopled, changes in the rise 
of vast new cities, changes in the growth of older cities almost out of recognition, 
changes in the graces and amenities of life, changes in the press, without whose 
advancement no advancement can be made anywhere. Nor am I, believe me, so 
arrogant as to suppose, that, in five and twenty years, there have been no changes 
in me, and that I had nothing to learn, and no extreme impressions to correct 
when I was here first." 



CHABAQTERS INTRODUCED, 

Bailey, junior. The " boots " at Mrs. Todgers's " Commercial 
Boarding-liouse ; " a small boy with a large red head, and no nose 
to speak of. He afterwards becomes " Tiger " to Tigg Montague, 
and finally engages with Mr. Sweedlepipe in the barber-business. 
(Ch. viii, X, xi, xxvi-xxix, xxxviii, xli, xlii, xlix, Hi.) 

Bevan, Mr. A sensible, warm-hearted Massachusetts man, whom 
Martin Chuzzlewit meets at his boarding-house in New York, and 
who afterwards advances him money to enable him to return to 
England. (Ch. xvi, xvii, xxi, xxxiii, xxxiv, xliii.) 

Bib, Julius Washington Merryweather. An American 
gentleman in the lumber line ; one of a committee that waits upon 
the Honorable Elijah Pogram. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

Brick, Jefferson. The war correspondent of " The New- York 

Rowdy Journal." (Ch. xvi.) He is introduced by Colonel Diver, 

the editor of the newspaper, to Martin Chuzzlewit, who had at first 

supposed him to be the colonel's son. 

" My war correspondent, sir, Mr. JeflTerson Brick I " 

Martin could not help starting at this unexpected announcement and the 
consciousness of the irretrievable mistake he had nearly made, 
19 



218 ff!)^ Bicfeens Bictfonarj. 

Mr. Brick seemed pleased with the sensation he produced upon the stranger^ 
and shook hands with him with an air of patronage designed to re-assure him, 
and to let him know that there was no occasion to be frightened; for he (Brick) 
would n't hurt him. 

" You have heard of Jefferson Brick, I see, sir," quoth the colonel with a 
smile. " England has heard of Jefferson Brick. Europe has heard of Jefferson 
Brick. Let me see. When did you leave England, sir ? '' 

*' Five weeks ago," said Martin. 

" Five weeks ago," repeated the colonel thoughtfully, as he took his seat upon 
the table, and swung his legs. " Now, let me ask you, sir, which of Mr. Brick's 
articles had become at that time the most obnoxious to the British parliament 
and the court of St. James." 

" Upon my word," said Martin, " I " — 

"I have reason to know, sir," interrupted the colonel, "that the aristocratic 
circles of your country quail before the name of Jefferson Brick. I should like 
to be informed, sir, from your lips, which of his sentiments has struck the dead- 
liest blow" — 

" At the hundred heads of the Hydra of Corruption now grovelling in the 
dust beneath the lance of Reason, and spouting up to the universal arch above 
us its sanguinary gore," said Mr. Brick, putting on a little blue cloth cap with a 
glazed front, and quoting his last article. 

"The libation of freedom. Brick," hinted the colonel. 

''Must sometimes be quaffed in blood, colonel," cried Brick. And when he 
said ''blood," he gave the great pair of scissors a sharp snap, as if they said 
blood too, and were quite of his opinion. 

This dons, they both looked at Martin, pausing for a reply. 

" Upon my life," said Martin, who had by this time quite recovered his usual 
coolness, "I can't give you any satisfactory information about it ; for the truth 
is, that I "— 

"Stop!" cried the colonel, glancing sternly at his war correspondent, and 
giving his head one shake after every sentence. " That you never heard of Jef- 
ferson Brick, sir; that you never read Jefferson Brick, sir; that you never saw 
'The Rowdy Journal,' sir; that you never knew, sir, of its mighty influence 
upon the cabinets of Eu— rope. Yes I " 

" That 's what I was about to observe, certainly," said Martin. 

" Keep cool, Jefferson," said the colonel gravely. " Don't bust I O you Euro, 
peans I Arter that let 's have a glass of wine I " 

Brick, Mrs. Jefferson. His wife, and the mother of " two young 
Bricks." She is taken by Martin Chuzzlewit for a " little girl ; " but 
he is put right by Colonel Diver, who informs him that she is a 
" matron." (Ch. xvi, xvii.) 

Buffura, Mr. Oscar. A member of a committee that waits upon 
the Honorable Elijah Pogram for the purpose of requesting the 
honor of his company " at a little le-Vee " in the ladies' ordinary at 
the National Hotel. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

Bullamy. A porter in the service of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinter- 
ested Loan and Life Insurance Company. (Ch. xxvii, li.) 

^Then he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the oflSce, with his 
glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the re 



i^artfn €!)u??leh)it. 219 

epectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch 
of his red waistcoat, until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the 
total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance 
on their lives for a thousand pounds, and, looking at him, to beg, before the form 
of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a 
giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his 
waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal, or anywhere else ; 
responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, — 
were all expressed in that one garment. 

Choke, General Cyrus. An American militia general, whose 
acquaintance Martin Chuzzlewit makes in a railway car. He is a 
member of the Eden Land Corporation, belongs to the Watertoast 
Association of United Sympathizers, and, taken all in all, is " one 
of the most remarkable men in the country.'* (Ch. xxi.) 

ChoUop, Major Hannibal. A man who calls upon Martin 
Chuzzlewit at Eden. (Ch. xxiii, xxiv.) 

He was usually described by his friends in the South and West as " a splen- 
did sample of our na-tive raw material, sir," and was much esteemed for his 
devotion to rational liberty, for the better propagation whereof he usually car- 
ried a brace of revolving pistols in his coat-pocket, with seven barrels apiece. 
He also carried amongst other trinkets a sword-stick, which he called his 
" Tickler," and a great knife, which (for he was a man of a pleasant turn of 
humor) he called "Ripper," in allusion to its usefulness as a means of ventilat- 
ing the stomach of any adversary in a close contest. He had used these weapons 
with distinguished effect in several instances (all duly chronicled in the news- 
papers), and was greatly beloved for the gallant manner in which he had "jobbed 
out " the eye of one gentleman as he was in the act of knocking at his own 
street-door. 

•. . . Preferring, with a view to the gratification of his tickling and ripping 
fancies, to dwell upon the outskirts of society, and in the more remote towns 
and cities, he was in the habit of emigrating from place to place, and establishing 
in each some business, — usually a newspaper, — which he presently sold; for 
the most part closing the bargain by challenging, stabbing, pistolling, or gou- 
ging the new editor, before he had quite taken possession of the property. 

He had come to Eden on a speculation of this kind, but had abandoned it, and 
was about to leave. He always introduced himself to strangers as a worshipper 
of freedom ; was the consistent advocate of Lynch law and slavery ; and inva- 
riably recommended, both in print and speech, the " tarring and feathering " of 
any unpopular person who differed from himself. He called this "planting the 
standard of civilization in the wilder gardens of My country." 

The Honorable Elijah Pogram thus eulogizes him to Martin : — 

Our fellow-countryman is a model of a man, quite fresh from Natur's mould I 
. . . He is a true-born child of this free hemisphere I Verdant as the mountains 
of our country, bright and flowing as our mineral licks, unspiled by withering 
conventionalities as air our broad and boundless perearere I Rough he may be : 
so air our barrs. Wild he may be: so air our buffalers. But he is a child of 
Natur' and a child of Freedom; and his boastful answer to the despot and 
the tyrant is, that his bright home is in the settin' sun. 



220 2ri)e Bfcfeens jafctfonatg. 

Chuffey, Mr. Clerk to Anthony Chuzzlewit ; a little, blear-eyed, 
weazen-faced old man, looking as if he had been put away and 
forgotten half a century before, and had just been found in a lum- 
ber closet. He hardly understands any one except his master, but 
always understands him, and wakes up quite wonderfully when Mr. 
Chuzzlewit speaks to him. (Ch. xi, xviii, xix, xxv, xxvi, xlvi, 
xlviii, xlix, li, liv.) 

Chuzzlewit, Anthony. Father of Jonas, and brother of Martin 
Chuzzlewit the elder ; an old man with a face wonderfully sharpened 
by the wariness and cunning of his life. (Ch. iv, viii, xii, xviii, 
xix.) 

Chuzzlewit, George. A gay bachelor, who claims to be young, 
but has been younger. He is inclined to corpulency, over-feeds 
himself, and has such an obvious disposition to pimples, that the 
bright spots on his cravat, and the rich pattern on his waist- 
coat, and even his glittering trinkets, seem to have broken out 
upon him, and not to have come into existence comfortably. (Ch. 
iv, liv.) 

Chuzzlewit, Jonas. Son of Anthoay, and nephew of old Martin 
Chuzzlewit ; a sly, cunning, ignorant young man, who is in pecu- 
niary matters a miser, and in instinct and disposition a brute. His 
rule for bargains is, " Do other men ; for they would do you." " That's 
the true business-precept," he says. " All others are counterfeit." 
Tired of the prolonged life of his father, and eager to come into pos- 
session of his property, he attempts to poison him, and believes that 
he has succeeded, as the old man dies shortly afterwards. The truth 
is, however, that his attempt has been discovered by his intended vic- 
tim and an old clerk named Chuflfey, who privately remove the poison. 
But the thought of his son's ingratitude and unnatural wickedness 
breaks old Anthony's heart ; and in a few days he dies, having first 
made Chuffey promise not to reveal the dreadful secret. Jonas 
now marries Mercy, the youngest daughter of Mr. Pecksniff, and 
treats her very cruelly. Believing that he has murdered his 
father, and that the secret has in some way become known to Mon- 
tague Tigg, a swindling director of the Anglo-Bengalee Disin- 
terested Loan and Life Insurance Company, Jonas is forced, as 
a condition of his secrecy, not only to come into the company him- 
self, but to pay large sums to Tigg as hush-money. At last, goaded 
to desperation, he follows Tigg into the country, where he waylays 
and murders him. The deed, though very cunningly devised and 



m^xtln €|)u??letoft 221 

executed, is soon traced to him, and he is arrested, but poisocs him- 
self on his way to prison. (Ch. iv, viii, xi, xviii-xx, xxiv, xxvi- 
xxviii, xxxviii, xl-xlii, xliv, xlvi-xlviii, li.) 
Chuzzlewit, Maa?tin, senior. A very rich and eccentric old 
gentleman ; brother of Anthony, and grandfather of young Martin. 
He is nearly driven mad by the fawning servility and hollow pro- 
fessions of his covetous relatives, and even quarrels with and dis- 
inherits his grandson, the only one among them all for whom he 
has ever cared. Receivino; a visit from his cousin Mr. Pecksniff, 
under whose assumption of honest independence he instantly detects 
the selfishness, deceit, and low design of his true character, he takes 
occasion to say, — 

" Judge what profit you are like to gain from any repetition of this visit, and 
leave me. I have so corrupted and changed the nature of all those who have 
ever attended on me, by breeding avaricious plots and hopes within them; I 
have engendered such domestic strife and discord by tarrying even with mem- 
bers of my own family ; I have been such a lighted torch in peaceable homes, 
kindling up all the inflammable gases and vapors in their moral atmosphere, 
which, but for me, might have proved harmless to the end, — that I have, I may 
say, fled from all who knew me, and, taking refuge in secret places have lived, 
of late, the life of one who is hunted. The young girl whom you just now saw 
... is an orphan-child, whom, with one steady purpose, I have bred and edu- 
cated, or, if you prefer the word, adopted. For a year or more she has been my 
constant companion, and she is my only one. I have taken, as she knows, a 
solemn oath never to leave her sixpence when I die ; but, while I live, I make her 
an annual allowance, not extravagant in its amount, and yet not stinted. There 
is a compact between us that no term of affectionate cajolery shall ever be 
addressed by either to the other, but that she shall call me always by my Chris- 
tian name, I her by hers. She is bound to me in life by ties of interest, and 
losing by my death, and having no expectation disappointed, will mourn it, per- 
haps ; though for that I care little. This is the only kind of friend I have or will 
have. Judge from such premises what a profitable hoar you have spent in com- 
ing here, and leave me, to return no more." 

Notwithstanding this plain speaking, the old man, for purposes 
of his own, goes to reside with Mr. Pecksniff, and pretends to be 
entirely governed by his wishes. When young Martin returns from 
America, rendered humble and penitent by his hard experience, he 
sees Pecksniff drive him from the door, and yet does not interpose a 
word. But the time soon comes, when having thoroughly tested 
both, and proved his grandson true, and Pecksniff false, he makes 
ample amends to the former, and awards the latter his just deserts. 
(Ch. iii, iv, x, xxiv, xxx, xxxi, xliii, 1-liv.) 
Chuzzlewit, Martin, the younger. The hero of the story; 
a rather wild and selfish young man. He has been brought up by 
■ .-.-^n-if.ither, who has intended making him his heir. But 



222 ^1)5 2ifcfeens iBfctionats. 

the young man presumes to fall in love with a young lady (Mary 
Graham) of whom the old man does not approve, and he is therefore, 
disinherited, and thrown upon his own resources. He goes to study 
with Mr. Pecksniff, with a vague intention of becoming a civil en^in- 
eer. His grandfather, upon ascertaining this fact, intimates to IMr. 
Pecksniff (who is his cousin), that he would find it to be for his own 
advantage, if he should turn young Martin out of the house. This 
Mr. Pecksniff immediately proceeds to do; and Martin again finds 
himself without money, or the means of obtaining it. He determines 
to go to America, and accordingly makes his way to London, where 
he meets Mark Tapley, who has saved a little from his wages at the 
Blue Dragon, and who wishes to accompany him. They take passage 
on the packet-ship " Screw," going over as steerage-passengers, but 
with sanguine expectations of amassing sudden wealth in the New 
World. Soon after their arrival at New York, Martin is led into 
investing the little money remaining to himself and Mark in a lot 
of fifty acres in the thriving city of Eden, in a distant part of the 
country; and they set out for it immediately. They find the city — 
which on paper had looked so fair, with its parks and fountains, its 
banks, factories, churches, and public buildings of all kinds — a dreary 
and malarious marsh, with a dozen log-cabins comprising the whole 
settlement. W6rse than all, Martin is seized with fever and ague, and 
barely escapes with his life ; and, before he is fairly convalescent, 
Mark is also stricken down. When they are at last able to move 
about a little, they turn their faces toward England, and after some 
time arrive at home. Martin seeks an interview with his grandfather, 
but finds that Mr. Pecksniff's influence over him is paramount, and 
that not even a fi'ank and manly avowal of error, coupled with a re- 
quest for forgiveness, avails to revive the old love, or to save him fi-om 
the indignity of being ordered out of the house. Miss Graham, how- 
ever, has remained faithful to him ; and with this one comfort he again 
turns his face towards London, to make his way in the great world 
as best he can. In the sequel he finds, much to his surprise, that his 
grandfather, distracted by suspicions, doubts, and fears, has only 
been probing Pecksniff, and accumulating proofs of his duplicity, 
and that, all through their separation, he himself has remained the 
old man's favorite. (Ch. v-vii, xii-xvii, xxi, xxii, xxxiii-xxxv, xliii, 
xlviii-1, lii-liv.) 
Cicero. A negro truckman in New York, formerly a slave. (Cb, 

xvii.) 
Codger, Miss. A Western literary celebrity. (Ch. xxxiv.') 




SAIREY GAMP AND )5ETSEV PRIG. 



|«[artfn (!t'^VL}}lz\nit 223 

CrimiDle David. A pawnbroker, afterwards tapster at tbe Lom- 
bards' Arms, and then secretary of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested 
Loan and Life Insurance Company. His name was originally Cnmp ; 
but as this was susceptible of an awkward construction, and might 
be misrepresented, he altered it to Crimple. (Ch. xih, xxvu, xxvm, 

Dfver ^ ColoneL Editor of « The New-York Rowdy Journal ; ' a sal- 
low man, withsunken cheeks, black hair, small twinkling eyes, and 
an expression compounded of vulgar cunning and conceit. (Ch. xv.) 
Dunkle, Doctor Ginery. One of a committee of citizens that 
waits upon the Honorable Elijah Pogram to request the honor of his 
company at a httle le-Vee at the National Hotel. Although he has 
the appearance of a mere boy with a very shrill voice, he passes for 
" a crentleman of great poetical elements." (Ch. xxxiv.) 
FiDS^Mr A lawyer, who, as the agent of an unknown person (old 
Martin Chuzzlewit), employs Tom Pinch as a kind of librarian and 
secretary. (Ch. xxxix, xl, liii.) _ 

Fladdock. GeneraL A corpulent American mihtia officer 
starched and punctilious, to whom Martin Chuzzlewit is introduced 
at the Norris's in New York, as having come over from England in 
the same vessel with himself. The general does not recognize him ; 
and Martin is obliged to explain, that, for the sake of economy, he 
had been obliged to take passage in the steerage, -a confession 
which at once stamps him as a fellow of no respectability, who has 
gained an entrance into good society under false pretences, and 
whose acquaintance must forthwith be disavowed. (Ch. xv, xvu.) 
Gamp, Sairey. A professional nurse. 

She was a fat old woman, this Mrs. Gamp, with a husky voice ^^^^^^l 
eye, which she had a remarkable power of turning up, ^^^^ ^fl'^''^^ ^l', 
white of it. Having very little neck, it cost her some trouble to look over her 
Telflf one maysayso,at those to whom she talked. ^ .e wore a very rusty 
black gown, raLer the worse for snuff, and a shawl an oonnet to correspond 
Jn ttei dilapidated articles of dress she had, on principle, --J-^^^^f^^^^^^^^ 
out of mind, on such occasions as the present; for this at once expre sed a 
deent Amount of veneration for the deceased, and invited tije next of km to 
pres^ntherwithafresher suit ofweeds,-anappeal so frequently successful^^ 

thrveiT fetd^ and ghost of Mrs. Gamp, bonnet and all, might be seen hanging 
up Z^Z in th! day, in at least a dozen of the -cond-hand-clothes shop 
about Holborn. The face of Mrs. Gamp-the nose m particu ar-was some- 
what r?d and swollen; and it was difficult to enjoy her society w^^^^^^^^ 
conscious of a smell of spirits. Like most persons who have attained o great 
TmTnTn:: in their profession, she took to hers very ^^r;^^<^^ f ^ 
ting aside her natural predilections as a woman, she went to a Ijinginora 
laying-out with equal zest and relish. 



224 ^i)e JBiciitns iBictConats* 

Mrs. Gamp is represented as constantly quoting or referring to a 
certain Mrs. Harris — a purely imaginary person — as an authority 
for her own fancies and fabrications. Thus, when Mr. Pecksniff 
says to her, that he supposes she has become indifferent to the dis- 
tress of surviving friends around the bed of the dying and of the 
dead, and that "use is second nature," — 

" You may well say second nater, sir," returned that lady. " One's first ways is 
to find sich things a trial to the feelings, and so is one's lasting custom. If it was 
u'tfor the nerve a little sip of liquor gives me (I never was able to do more than 
taste it), I never could go through with what I sometimes has to do. ' Mrs. 
Harris,' I says at the very last case as ever I acted in, which it was but a young 
person, — ' Mrs. Harris,' I says, ' leave the bottle on the chimley -piece, and don't 
ask me to take none, but let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged, and 
then I will do what I 'm engaged to do, according to the best of my ability.' — 
' Mrs. Gamp,' she says in answer, ' if ever there was a sober creetur to be got at 
eighteen-pence a day for working-people, and three and six for gentlefolks 
(' night-watching,' " said Mrs. Gamp with emphasis, " ' being a extra charge'), 
'you are that inwallable person.' — 'Mrs. Harris,' I says to her, 'don't name the 
charge; for, if I could afi'ord to lay all my feller-creeturs out for nothink, I would 
gladly do it ; sich is the love I bears 'em. But what I always says to them as 
has the management of matters, Mrs. Harris ' " (here she kept her eye on 
Mr. Pecksniff ), "'be they gents or be they ladies, is, don't ask me whether I 
won't take none, or whether I will, but leave the bottle on the chimley-piece, 
and let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged.' " 

(Ch. xix, XXV, xxvi, xxix, xl, xlvi, xlix, li, lii.) See Prig, Betsey. 
Grander, Mr. A boarder at Mrs. Todgers's. (Ch. ix.) 
Graham, Mary. Companion of old Martin Chuzzlewit, and be- 
trothed to young Martin, whom she finally marries. 

She was very young (apparently not more than seventeen), timid and shrink- 
ing in her manner, and yet' with a greater share of self-possession and control 
over her emotions than usually belongs to a far more advanced period of female 
life. . . . She was short in stature, and her figure was slight, as became her 
years; but all the charms of youth and maidenhood set it off, and clustered on 
her gentle brow. 

(Ch. iii, V, vi, xxiv, xxx, xxxi, xxxiii, xliii, lii, liii.) 

Groper, Colonel. One of a committee who wait upon the Hon- 
orable Elijah Pogram to request his attendance at a le-Vee at the 
National Hotel, given to him by the citizens. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

Hominy, Mrs. A literary celebrity introduced to Martin Chuz- 
zlewit. She is " one of our chicest spirits, and belongs toe one 
of our most aristocratic families." (Ch. xxii, xxiii, xxxiv.) 

Izzard, Mr. One of the deputation of citizens who beg the attend- 
ance of the Honorable Elijah Pogram at a little le-Vee at eight 
o'clock in the evening at the National Hotel. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

Jack. Driver of a stage-coach plying between London and Salis- 
bury. (Ch. xxxvi.) 



Martin €!)unl^toit. 225 

Jane. Mr. Pecksniff's female servant. (Ch. xxxi.) 

Jinkins, Mr, The oldest boarder at Mrs. Todgers's ; a gentleman 
of a fashionable turn, who frequents the parks on Sundays, and 
knows a great many carriages by sight. (Ch. ix-xi, liv.) 

Jobling, Doctor John. Medical officer of the Anglo-Bengalee 
Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company. (Ch. xxvii, 
xxviii, xxxviii, xli.) 

Jodd, Mr. A member of the committee of citizens that waits 
upon the Honorable Elijah Pogram to solicit the favor of his com- 
pany at a le-Vee at the National Hotel. (Ch. xxxiv.) See 
Pogram. 

Kedgick, Captain. Landlord of the National Hotel, at which 
Martin Chuzzlewit stays on his way to Eden, and also on his re- 
turn to New York. (Ch. xxii, xxxiv.) 

Kettle, Lafayette. An inquisitive, bombastic American, whom 
Martin Chuzzlewit meets while travelling ; secretary of the Water- 
toast Association of United Sympathizers. (Ch. xxi, xxii.) 

Lewsome, Mr. A young man bred a surgeon, and employed by 
a general practitioner in London as an assistant. Being indebted 
to Jonas Chuzzlewit, he sells him the drugs with which old An- 
thony Chuzzlewit is poisoned, though he has reason to suspect the 
use which will be made of them. After the death of the old man, 
he makes a voluntary confession of his agency in the matter ; being 
impelled to do so by the torture of his mind and the dread of 
death caused by a severe sickness. (Ch. xxv, xxix, xlviii, li.) 

Lupin, Mrs. Landlady of the Blue Dragon Inn at Salisbury; 
afterwards the wife of Mark Tapley. 

The mistress of the Blue Dragon was in outward appearance just what a 
landlady should be, — broad, buxom, comfortable, and good-looking, with a face 
of clear red and white, which by its jovial aspect at once bore testimony to her 
hearty participation in the good things of the larder and cellar, and to their 
thriving and healthful influences. She was a widow, but years ago had passed 
through her state of weeds, and burst into flower again ; and in full bloom she was 
now, with roses on her ample skirts, and roses on her bodice, roses in her cap, 
roses in her cheeks, — ay, and roses, worth the gathering too, on her lips, for 
that matter. She had still a bright black eye and jet black hair; was comely, 
dimpled, plump, and tight as a gooseberry; and, though she was not exactly 
• what the world calls young, you may make an affidavit, on trust, before any 
mayor or magistrate in Christendom, that there are a great many young ladies 
in the world (blessings on them, one and all I ) whom you would n't like half as 
well, or admire half as much, as the beaming hostess of the Blue Di'agon. 

(Ch. iii, iv, vii, xxxi, xxxvi, xxxvii, xliii, xllv, lii.) 



226 ^1)^ Mlc'ktns Bfctfonars. 

Moddle, Mr. Augustus. The " youngest gentleman " at Mrs. 
Todgers's Commercial Boarding-House. He falls desperately in 
love with ]Miss Mercy Pecksniff', and, becoming very low-spirited 
after her marriage to Jonas Chuzzlewit, is entrapped into an en- 
gagement with her sister Charity, but loses his courage, and breaks 
his word at the last moment, sending the injured fail one a letter 
to inform her that he is on his way to Van Diemen's Land, and 
that it will be useless for her to send in pursuit, as he is determined 
never to be taken aUve. (Ch. ix-xi, xxxii, xxxvii, xlvi, liv.) 

Montague, Tigg. See Tigg, Montague. 

Mould, Mr. An undertaker; a little bald elderly man, with a 
face in which a queer attempt at melancholy was at odds with a 
smirk of satisfaction. (Ch. xix, xxv, xxix, xxxviii.) 

Mould, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. xxv, xxix.) 

Mould, The two Misses. Their daughters; fair, round, and 
chubby damsels, with their peachy cheeks distended as though they 
ought of right to be performing on celestial trumpets. (Ch. xxv.) 

Mullit, Professor. A very short gentleman, with a red nose, 
whom Martin Chuzzlewit meets at Mrs. Pawkins's boarding-house 
in New York. He is a professor " of education," a man of " fine 
moral elements," and author of some powerful pamphlets, written 
under the signature of Suturb, or Brutus reversed. (Ch. xvi.) 

Nadgett, Mr. Tom Pinch's landlord, employed by Montague 
T'lcrrr as & detectlve. 

He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted 
his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of 
six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret ; where he lived 
was a secret; and even what he was was a secret. In his musty old pocket- 
book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal- 
merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a 
collector, in others an accountant; as if he really did n't know the secret him- 
self. He was always keeping appointments in the city, and the other man 
never seemed to come. 

(Ch. xxvii, xxviii, xxxviii, xl, xli, xlvii, li.) 

Norris, Mr. A New- York gentleman, wealthy, aristocratic, and 
fashionable ; a sentimental abolitionist, and " a very good fellow in 
his way," but inclined " to set up on false pretences," and ridicu- 
lously afraid of being disgraced by moneyless acquaintances. (Ch. 
xvii.) 

Norris, Mrs. His wife; much older and more faded than she 
ought to have looked. (Ch. xvii.) 




MR PECKSNIFF AND HIS DAUGHTERS. 



|«attin €|)u??Utoft. 227 

Norris, The two Misses. Their daughters ; one eig^i teen, the 

other twenty, both very slender, but very pretty. (Ch. xvii.) 
Pawkins, Major. A New- York politician ; a bold speculator (or 

swindler), an orator and a man of the people, and a general loafer. 

(Ch. xvi.) 
Pawkins, Mrs. His wife; keeper of a boarding-house. (Ch. 

xvi.) 
Pecksniff, Seth. A resident of Salisbury ; ostensibly an architect 

and land-surveyor, though he had never designed or built any thing, 

and his surveying was limited to the extensive prospect from the 

windows of his house. 

Mr. PecksnifiT was a moral man. . . . Perhaps there never was a more moral 
man than Mr. Pecksniff, especially in his conversation and correspondence. It 
was once said of him by a homely admirer, that he had a Fortunatus's purse of 
good sentiments in his inside. In tliis particular he was like the girl in the 
fairy-tale, except that, if they were not actual diamonds which fell from his lips, 
they were the very brightest paste, and shone prodigiously. He was a most 
exemplary man, — fuller of virtuous precept than a copy-book. Some people 
likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the way to a place, and 
never goes there; but these were his enemies, the shadows cast by his bright- 
ness : that was all. His very throat was moral. You saw a good deal of it. 
You looked over a very low fence of white cravat (whereof no man had ever be- 
held the tie, for he fastened it behind), and there it lay, a valley between two 
jutting heights of collar, serene and whiskerless before you. It seemed to say, 
on the part of Mr. Pecksniff, " There is no deception, ladies and gentlemen ; all 
is peace; a holy calm pervades me." So did his hair, just grizzled with an iron- 
gray, which was all brushed off his forehead, and stood bolt upright, or slightly 
drooped in kindred action with his heavy eyelids. So did his person, which was 
sleek, though free from corpulency. So did his manner, which was soft and oily. 
In a word, even his plain black suit, and state of widower, and dangling double 
eye-glass, — all tended to the same purpose, and cried aloud, " Behold the moral 
Pecksniff 1 " 

Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements were almost, if not entirely, con- 
fined to the reception of pupils; for the collection of rents, with which pursuit 
he occasionally varied and relieved his graver toils, can hardly be said to be a 
strictly architectural employment. His genius lay in insnaring parents and 
guardians, and pocketing premiums. A young gentleman's premium being 
paid, and the young gentleman come to Mr. Pecksniff's house, Mr. Pecksniff 
borrowed his case of mathematical instruments (if silver-mounted, or otherwise 
valuable); entreated him from that moment to consider himself one of the 
family; complimented him highly on his parents or guardians, as the case might 
be ; and turned him loose in a spacious room on the two-pair front ; where, in 
the company of certain drawing-boards, parallel i-ulers, very stiff-legged com- 
passes, and two, or, perhaps, three, other young gentlemen, he improved him- 
self lor three or five years, according to his articles, in making elevations of 
Salisbury Cathedral from every possible point of sight, and in constructing in 
the air a vast quantity of castles, houses of parliament, and other public build- 
ings. 



228 2r|)e ©ickens Bictionarfi. 

Mr. Pecksniff is a cousin of old Martin Cliuzzlewit's, who being 
very ill, a general council and conference of his relatives is held at 
Mr. Pecksniff's house in order to devise means of inducing him to 
listen to the promptings of nature in the disposal of his large prop- 
erty. The meeting is far from being harmonious ; and Mr. Pecksniff 
is compelled to listen to some very plain truths, Mr. Anthony Chuzzle- 
wit telling him bluntly not to be a hypocrite. 

" A what, my good sir ? " demanded Mr. Pecksniflf. 

"A hypocrite." 

" Charity, my dear," said Mr. Pecksniff, " when I take my chamber candle-stick 
to-night, remind me to be more than usually particular in praying for Mr. Anthony 
Chuzzlewit, who has done me an injustice." 

Meeting Mr. Chuzzlewit in a stage-coach, some time afterwards, 
Mr. Pecksniff takes occasion to remark, incidentally, but cuttingly, 
" I may be a hypocrite ; but I am not a brute." 

'•' Pooh, pooh 1 " said the old man. " What signifies that word, Pecksniff? Hyp- 
ocrite I Why, we are all h}T)Ocrites. We were all hypocrites t' other day. lam 
sure I felt that to be agreed upon among us, or I should n't have called you one. 
We should not have been there at all if we had not been hypocrites. The only 
difference between you and the rest was — Shall I tell you the difference between 
you and the rest now, Pecksniff ? " 

" If you please, my good sir; if you please." 

'* Why, the annoying quality in you is," said the old man, " that you never have 
a confederate or partner in your juggling. You would deceive everybody, even 
those who practise the same art ; and have a way with you, as if you — he, he, he I 
— as if you really believed yourself. I 'd lay a handsome wager now," said the 
old man, " if I laid wagers (which I don't, and never did), that you keep up appear- 
ances by a tacit understanding, even before your own daughters here." 

During the journey, Pecksniff imbibes copious refreshment from a 
brandy-bottle, and is thereafter moved to give utterance to various 
moral precepts and weighty sentiments. 

" What are we," said Mr, Pecksniff, " but coaches ? Some of us are slow 
coaches " — 

" Goodness, pa I " cried Charity. 

" Some of us, I say," resumed her parent with increased emphasis, " are slow 
coaches ; some of us are fast coaches. Our Passions are the horses, and rampant 
animals toot " — 

" Really, pa \ " cried both the daughters at once. " How very unpleasant \ " 

" And rampant animals, too I " repeated Mr. Pecksniff, with so much determi- 
nation, that he may be said to have exhibited, at the moment, a sort of moral 
rampancy himself ; '' and Virtue is the drag. We start from The Mother's Arms, 
and we run to The Dust Shovel." 

When he had said this, Mr. Pecksniff, being exhausted, took some further re- 
freshment. When he had done that, he corked the bottle tight, with the air of a 
man who had effectually corked the subject also, and went to sleep for three 
stages. 



P^artfn ®!)u??lcfa)ft 229 

Mr. Pecksniff receives young Martin Chuzzlewit into his family 
as a student, and manifests a very strong interest in him ; but, on a 
hint from the elder Mr. Chuzzlewit, he contumeliously turns him 
out of his house, and renounces him forever. This he does because 
Martin's grandfather has expressed his desire for a better under- 
standinof between himself and Mr. Pecksniff than has hitherto ex- 
isted, and has declared his intention to attach him to himself by ties 
of interest and expectation. Systematic self-server that he is, in 
order to secure the old man's great wealth, Mr. Pecksniff sedulously 
studies his likings and dislikings, falls in with all his prejudices, 
lies, fawns, and worms himself (as he thinks) into his favor, through 
concessions and crooked deeds innumerable, through meannesses 
and vile endurance, and through all manner of dirty ways ; but in 
the end he finds, that, after all, his labor has been for nought, that 
his duplicity has been fathomed to the bottom, and his servile char- 
acter thoroughly unmasked. Yet he remains the same canting 
hypocrite even in shame and discovery, and in the drunkenness and 
beggary in which he ends his days. 

According to " Blackwood's Magazine," " Pecksniff owed much 
of his celebrity, we believe, to his remarkable likeness to the late 
Sir Robert Peel." But the American Publishers* Circular for 
June 27, 1857, in announcing the fact of Mr. Samuel Carter Hall's 
intention to visit the United States for the purpose of delivering a 
series of lectures, denied the resemblance, asserting, that — 

" Mr. Hall is supposed to be the actual, veritable Pecksniflf of ' Martin Chuzzlewit.' 
For a time, and by a few, it was supposed that the late Sir Robert Peel was the original 
of that character; but the impression faded off, and Mr. Samuel Carter Hall is univer- 
sally confessed to be the man. The artist ' Phiz ' has even hit off, in his Pecksniff, a 
strong personal I'esemblance to Mr. Hall, — an unmistakable resemblance, indeed. So 
did Dickens point him out, showing him in his family, surrounded by portraits and 
busts of himself. After all, though somewhat pretentious, and aiming at passing off as 
a great moral philosopher, Mr. Hall has numerous good points. ... He is reported to be 
expected over in the fall, being engaged by an ' Institution ' in New York. If the bills 
be headed ' The Original Pecksniff,' curiosity will fill the house on the first night." — 
Vol. Ill, No. xxvi, p. 405. 

(Ch. ii-vi, viii-xii, xviii-xx, xxiv, xxx, xxxi, xxxv, xliii, xliv, 
xlvii, lii, liv.) 
t^ecksniff, Charity, called Cherry. Mr. Pecksniff's elder daugh- 
ter, betrothed to Mr. Augustus Moddle, but deserted by him on the 
very day appointed for the wedding. (Ch. ii, iv-vi, viii-xi, xviii, 
XX, xxiv, xxx, xxxii, xxxvii, xliv, xlvi, liv.) See Moddle, Mr. 
Augustus. 

20 



230 2tl)e Bicfeens Bfctionarj. 

PecksniflF, Mercy, called Merry. His younger daughter; a 
giddy, vain, and heartless girl, and a hypocrite like her father. 

Her simplicity and innocence . . . were great, — very great. . . . She was 
all girlishness and playfulness and wilduess and kittenish buoyancy. She was 
the most arch, and at the same time the most artless creature, was the young- 
est Miss Peclcsniflf, that you can possibly imagine. It was her great charm. 
She was too fresh and guileless to wear combs in her hair, or to turn it up, or 
to frizzle it, or to braid it. She wore it in a crop, — a loosely -flowing crop, which 
had so many rows of curls in it, that the top row was only one curl. 

ISIr. Jonas Chuzzlewit, a thoroughly sordid and despicable vil- 
lain, after making love to her sister, abruptly proposes to herself. 
She accepts and marries him, — partly to spite her sister, and partly 
because he has money. She soon finds out that he is a brute as 
well as a rascal, and she sufi*ers much from his cruelty ; yet — won- 
derful to relate I — " throwing aside at once the ingrained selfishness 
and meanness of nearly thirty years," she " becomes in less than 
two months a model of uncomplaining endurance and self-denying 
affection." (Ch. ii, iv-vi, viii, x, xi, xx, xxii, xxiv, xxvi, xxviii, 
xxxvi, xl, xlvi, xlvii, li, liv.) 

Pinch, Ruth. Governess in a wealthy brass and copper founder's 
family at Camberwell ; sister to Tom Pinch ; afterwards the wife 
of John Westlock. (Ch. ix, xxxvi, xxxvii, xxxix, xl, xlvi, xlviii, 
1, lii-liv.) 

Pinch, Tom. An ungainly, awkward-looking man, extremely 

short-sighted, and prematurely bald. He is an assistant to Mr. 

Pecksniff, for whom he has an unbounded respect, and in whose 

pretensions lie has a wonderful faith ; his nature being such, that 

lie is timid and distrustful of himself, and trustful of all other 

men, — even the least deserving. 

He was far from handsome, certainly; and was dressed in a snuff-colored 
suit, of an uncouth make at the best, which, being shrunken with long wear, was 
twisted and tortured into aU kinds of odd shapes. But notwithstanding his 
attire and his clumsy figure, which a great stoop in his shoulders, and a ludi- 
crous habit he had of thrusting his head forward, by no means redeemed, one 
would not have been disposed (unless Mr. Pecksniff said so) to consider him a 
bad fellow by any means. He was, perhaps, about thirty; but he might have 
been almost any age between sixteen and sixty, being one of those strange 
creatures who never decline into an ancient appearance, but look their oldest 
when they are very young, and get over it at once. 

Tom's faith in his master remains unshaken for a long time ; but 

his eyes are opened at last, and he sees him to be a consummate 

hypocrite and villain. Pecksniff, knowing himself to have been 

found out, discharges Tom, who goes to London to try his fortune, 




ELIJAH POGRAM AND MRS. HuMTNY. 



ptartin <a:i)unleto{t. 231 

and is befriended by old Martin Chuzzlewit, secretly at first, but 
afterwards openly. (Ch. ii, v-vii, ix, xii, xiv, xx, xxiv, xxx, xxxi, 
xxxvi-xl, xlv, xlvi, xlviii, 1, lii-liv.) 

" Perhaps Mr. Dickens's claims as a humourist - a member of that brotherhood of au- 
thors who have contributed to the world such delicate and graceful creations as Uncle 
Toby and Sir Roger deCoverley- rest more upon this loving and tender picture than 
upon any other individual creation which he has yet produced. Tom's weaknesses and 
foibles- are we left ignorant of one of them ? Yet do we regard him a whit the less 
because we smile at these gentle faults of his ? Mr. Dickens has made sketches of more 
pretension; but he has never done any thing so complete, so good, or of so graceful a 
perfection in hisart,as the portrait of Tom Finch.'' -Blackwood's Magazine, vol. Ixxvii, 
p. 460 (April, 1855). 

Pip, Mr. A theatrical character, and a " capital man to know ; " 
a friend of Montague Tigg's. (Ch. xxxviii.) 

Piper, Professor. One of a deputation chosen to wait upon the 
Honorable Elijah Pograra, to request the honor of his company at a 
little le-Vee, at eight o'clock in the evening, in the ladies' ordinary 
of the National Hotel. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

Pogram, The Honorable Elijah. A member of Congress, and 
" one of the master minds of our country," whose acquaintance Mar- 
tin Chuzzlewit makes on his return from Eden to New York. He 
is especially noted as the author of the " Pogram Defiance," " which 
rose so much con-test and preju-dice in Europe." Mr. Pogram is 
waited on at the National Hotel by a committee of the citizens, 
and tendered a public reception, or "levee," the same evening. 

Each man took one slide forward as he was named, butted at the Honorable 
Elijah Pogram with his head, shook hands, and slid back again. The introduc- 
tions being completed, the spokesman resumed. 

"Sirl" 

" Mr. Pogram 1 " cried the shrill boy. 

" Perhaps," said the spokesman with a hopeless look, "you will be so good, 
Doctor Ginery Dunkle, as to charge yourself with the execution of our little 

office, sir ? " 

As there was nothing the shrill boy desired more, he immediately stepped 

forward. 

" Mr. Pogram I Sir I A handful Of your fellow-citizens, sir, hearing Of your 
arrival at the National Hotel, and feeling the patriotic character Of your public 
services, wish, sir, to have the gratification Of beholding you, and mixing with 
you, sir, and unbending with you, sir, in those moments which " — 

" Air," suggested Buffum. 

« Which air so pecuUarly the lot, sir. Of our great and happy country." 

"Hear I" cried Colonel Groper in a loud voice. "Good! Hear him! 

Good ! " 

" And therefore, sir," pursued the doctor, " they request, as A mark Of their 
respect, th'^ honor of your company at a little le-Vee, sir, in the ladies' ordinary, 
at eight o'clock." 

Mr. Pogram bowed, and said, — 



232 2r!)e Bicfeens Bictionat;^. 

" Fellow-countrymen I " 

*' Good I " cried the colonel. " Hear him I Good I " 

Mr. Pogram bowed to the colonel individually, and then resumed, — 

" Your approbation of My labors in the common cause goes to My heart. At 
all times and in all places, in the ladies' ordinary, My friends, and in the Battle 
Field" — 

" Good, very good I Hear him I Hear him I " said the colcrnel. 

"The name of Pogram will be proud to jine you. And may it, My friends, 
be written on My tomb, ' He was a member of the Con-gress of our cominon 
country, and was ac-Tive in his trust.'" 

" The Com-rnittee, sir," said the shrill boy, " will wait upon you at five min- 
utes afore eight. I take My leave, sir." 

Mr. Pogram shook hands with him, and everybody else, once more ; and, when 
they came back again at five minutes before eight, they said, one by one, in a 
melancholy voice, " How do you do, sir?" and shook hands with Mr. Pogram 
all over again, as if he had been abroad for a twelvemonth in the mean time, and 
they met now at a funeral . 

But by this time Mr. Pogram had freshened himself up, and had composed 
his hair and features after the Pogram statue : so that any one with half an eye 
might cry out, " There he is I as he delivered the Defiance I " The committee 
were embellished also; and, when they entered the ladies' ordinary in a body, 
there was much clapping of hands from ladies and gentlemen, accompanied by 
cries of "Pogram ! Pogram I " and some standing up on chairs to see him. 

The object of the popular caress looked round the room as he walked up it, 
and smiled, at the same time observing to the shrill boy, that he knew something 
of the beauty of the daughters of their common country, but had never seen it 
in such lustre and perfection as. at that moment. Which the shrill boy put in 
the paper next day, to Elijah Pogram's great surprise. 

" We will re-quest you, sir, if you please," said Buffum, laying hands on Mr. 
Pogram as if he were taking a measure for his coat, "to stand up with your 
back agin the wall right in the furthest corner, that there may be more room for 
our fellow-cit-izens. If you could set your back right slap agin that curtain-peg, 
sir, keeping your left leg everlastingly behind the stove, we should be fixed 
quite slick." 

Mr. Pogram did as he was told, and wedged himself into such a little corner, 
that the Pogram statue would n't have known him. 

The entertainments of the evening then began. Gentlemen brought ladies 
up, and brought themselves up, and brought each other up, and asked Elijah 
Pogram what he thought of this political question, and what he thought of that, 
and looked at him, and looked at one another, and seemed very unhappy indeed. 
The ladies on the chairs looked at Elijah Pogram through their glasses, and said 
audibly, " I wish he 'd speak I Why don't he speak ? Oh, do ask him to speak ! " 
And Elijah Pogram looked sometimes at the ladies, and sometimes elsewhere, 
delivering senatorial opinions as he was asked for them. But the great end and 
object of the meeting seemed to be not to let Elijah Pogram out of the corner 
on any account : so there they kept him hard and fast. 
(Ch. xxxiv.) 
Prig, Betsey. A day-nurse ; a bosom-friend of Mrs. Gamp's. 

Mrs. Prig was of the Gamp build, but not so fat; and her voice was deeper, 
and more like a man's. She had also a beard. 

These two ladies often " nuss together, turn and turn about, one 



£&uxUn ©^u^jletoft. 233 

off, one on." They are both engaged by John Westlock to take 
care of an acquaintance of his who lies dangerously ill at a public- 
house in London ; and, when ISlrs. Gamp relieves Mrs. Prig, the 
following conversation occurs : — 

"Any thin' to tell afore you goes, my dear?" asked Mrs. Gamp, setting her 
bundle down inside the door, and looking affectionately at her partner. 

" The pickled salmon," Mrs. Prig replied, " is quite delicious. I can partick'ler 
recommend it. Don't have nothink to say to the cold meat; for it tastes of the 
stable. The drinks is all good." 

Mrs. Gamp expressed herself much gratified. 

" The physic and them things is on the drawers and mankleshelf," said Mrs. 
Prig cursorily. '' He took his last slime draught at seven. The easy-chair an't 
soft enough. You '11 want his piller." 

Mrs. Gamp thanked her for these hints, and, giving her a friendly good-night, 
held the door open until she had disappeared at the other end of the gallery. 

The patient at last recovers sufficiently to admit of his being re- 
moved to the country ; and Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Prig superintend the 
arrangements for the journey. 

He was so wasted, that it seemed as if his bones would rattle when they moved 
him. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes unnaturally large. He lay back in 
the easy-chair like one more dead than living, and rolled his languid eyes towards 
the door when Mrs. Gamp appeared, as painfully as if their weight alone were 
burdensome to move. 

"And how are we by this time?" Mrs. Gamp observed. "We looks charm- 
ing." 

" We looks a deal charminger than we are, then," returned Mrs. Prig, a little 
chafed in her temper. " We got out of bed back'ards, I think ; for we 're as cross 
as two sticks. I never see sich a man ! He would n't have been washed if he 'd 
had his own way." 

" She put the soap in my mouth," said the unfortunate patient feebly. 

" Could n't you keep it shut, then ?" retorted Mrs. Prig. " Who do you think 's 
I > wash one feater, and miss another, and wear one's eyes out with all manner of 
fine work of that description, for half a crown a day ? If you wants to be titti- 
vated, you must pay accordin'." 

" Oh, dear me ! " cried the patient. " Oh, dear, dear ! " 

" There ! " said Mrs. Prig, " that 's the way he 's been a-conducting of himself, 
Ibairah, ever since I got him out of bed, if you '11 believe it." 

" Instead of being grateful," Mrs. Gamp observed, " for all our little ways. Oh, 
fie for shame, sir I fie for shame 1 " 

Here Mrs. Prig seized the patient by the chin, and began to rasp his unhappy 
head with a hair-brush. 

" I suppose you don't like that, neither," she obsei-ved, stopping to look at 
him. 

It was just possible that he did n't ; for the brush was a specimen of the hardest 
kind of instrument producible by modern art, and his very ej^elids were red with 
the friction. Mrs. Prig was gratified to observe the correctness of her suppo- 
Mtion, and said triumphantly, she " know'd as much." 

When his hair was smoothed down comfortably into his eyes, Mrs. Prig and 
20* 



234 5C!)e Sfcfeens Sictfonarj?. 

Mrs. Gamp put onliis neckerchief, adjusting? his shirt-collar with great nicety, so 
that the starched points should also invade those organs, and afflict them with an 
artificial ophthalmia. His waistcoat and coat were next arranged ; and as every 
button was wrenched into a wrong button-hole, and the order of his boots was 
reversed, he presented, on the whole, rather a melancholy appearance. 

" I don't think it 's right," said the poor weak invalid. "I feel as if I was in 
somebody else's clothes. I'm all on one side; and you 've made one of my legs 
shorter than the other. There 's a bottle in my pocket too. What do you make 
me sit upon a bottle for ? " 

" Deuse take the man I " cried Mrs. Gamp, drawing it forth. " If he ain't been 
and got my night-bottle here 1 I made a little cupboard of his coat when it hung 
behind the door, and quite forgot it, Betsey. You '11 find an ingun or two, and a 
little tea and sugar, in his t'other pocket, my dear, if you '11 just be good enough 
to take 'em out." 

Betsey produced the property in question, together with some other articles of 
general chandlery; and Mrs. Gamp transferred them to her own pocket, which 
was a species of nankeen pannier. Refreshment then arrived in the form of 
chops and strong ale for the ladies, and a basin of beef-tea for the patient; which 
refection was barely at an end when John Westlock appeared. 

The arrangements are finally completed ; and, as Mrs. Gamp is to 
accompany the invalid, she bids farewell to Mrs. Prig. 

" Wishin' you lots of sickness, my darling creetur," Mrs. Gamp observed, " and 
good places. It won't be long, I hope, afore we works together, off" and on, again, 
Betsey ; and may our next meetin' be at a large family's, where they all takes it 
reg'lar, one from another, turn and turn about, and has it business-like I " 

" I don't care how soon it is," said Mrs. Prig; '• nor how many weeks it lasts." 

The two friends have a falling-out at last, however. Mrs. Prio; has 
been invited to take tea with Mrs. Gamp, on which occasion the lat- 
ter informs her of another prospective job of nursing in partnership. 

" Now, Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, "joining business with pleasure, wot is this 
case in which you wants me ? " 

Mrs. Gamp betraying in her face some intention of returning an evasive an- 
swer, Betsey added, — 

"7s it Mrs. Harris?" 

"No, Betsey Prig: it a'n't," was Mrs. Gamp's reply. 

" Well, " said Mrs. Prig with a short laugh. " I 'm glad of that, at any rate I " 

"Why should you be glad of that, Betsey?" Mrs. Gamp retorted warmly. 
" She is unbeknown to you, except by hearsay : why should you be glad ? If you 
have any think to say contrairy to the character of Mrs. Harris, which well I 
knows behind her back, afore her face, or anywheres, is not to be impeaged, out 
with it, Betsey. I have knowed that sweetest and best of women," said Mrs. 
Gamp, shaking her head, and shedding tears, " ever since afore her first, which 
Mr. Harris, who was dreadful timid, went and stopped his ears in a empty dog- 
kennel, and never took his hands away or come out once till he was showed the 
iaby, wen, bein' took with fits, the doctor collared him, and laid him on his back 
upon the airy stones, and she was told to ease her mind, his owls was organs. 
And I have know'd her, Betsey Prig, wen he has hurt her feelin' art by sayin' of 
his ninth, that it was one too many, if not two; while that dear innocent was 
looin' in his face, which thrive it did, though bandy : but I have never know'd as 



ptattU ai:l)u??letoft. 235 

you had occagion to be glad, Betsey, on account of Mrs. Harris not requiring you 
Require she never will, depend upon it; for her constant word in sickness is, and 

wUl be, ' Send for Sairey I "' . . -u ^u ■ ^- ^r 

During this touching address, Mrs. Prig, adroitly feigning to be the victim of 
that absence of mind which has its origin in excessive attention to one topic, 
helped herself from the teapot without appearing to observe it. Mrs. Gamp ob- 
served it, however, and came to a premature close in consequence. 

'' Well, it a'n't her, it seems," said Mrs. Prig coldly. '• Who is it, then ? " 
" Yoa have heerd me mention, Betsey," Mrs. Gamp replied, after glancing m an 
expressive and marked manner at the teapot, " a person as I took care on at the 
time as you and I was pardners, oif and on, in that there fever at the Bull?" 
" Old Snuffey," Mrs. Prig observed. _ 

Sarah Gamp looked at her with an eye of fire; for she saw in this mistake of 
Mrs Prig another wUful and malignant stab at that same weakness or custom of 
hers, an ungenerous allusion to which, on the part of Betsey, had first disturbed 
their harmony that evening. And she saw it still more clearly, when, pohtely 
but firmly correcting that lady by the distinct enunciation of the word " Chuffey, 
Mrs Prig received the correction with a diabolical laugh. . . . Her countenance 
became about this time derisive and defiant ; and she sat with her arms folded, and 
one eye shut up, in a somewhat offensive, because obtrusively intelligent manner. 
Mrs. Gamp, observing this, felt it the more necessary that Mrs. Png should 
know her place, and be made sensible of her exact station in society, as well as of 
her obligations to herself. She therefore assumed an air of greater patronage 
and importance as she went on to answer Mrs. Prig a little more in detail . 

" Mr Chuffey, Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, " is weak in his mind. Excuge me if 
I makes remark, that he may neither be so weak as people thinks, nor people may 
not think he is so weak as they pretends; and what I knows I knows, and what 
YOU don't you don't: so do not ask me, Betsey. But Mr. Chuffey's friends has 
made propojals for his bein' took care on, and has said to me, ' Mrs. Gamp, wtZZ you 
undertake it ' We could n't think,' they says, ' of trusting him to nobody but you ; 
for Sairey, you are gold as has passed the furnage. Will you undertake it at your 
ow'n price, day and night, and by your own self ? ' - ' No,' I says, ' I will not. Do 
not reckon on it. There is,' I says, ' but one creetur in the world as I would under- 
take on sech terms ; and her name is Harris. But,' I says, ' I am acquainted with 
a friend, whose name is Betsey Prig, that I can recommend, and will assist me. 
Betsey,' I says, ' is always to be trusted, under me, and will be guided as I could 

desire ' '^ 

Here Mrs Prig, without any abatement of her offensive manner, again coun- 
terfeited abstraction of mind, and stretched out her hand to the teapot. It was 
more than Mrs. Gamp could bear. She stopped the hand of Mrs. Png with her 
own, and said with great feeling, — 

'<■ No, Betsey 1 Drink fair, wotever you do I " 

Mrs Prig, thus baffled, threw herself back in her chair, and closing the same 
eye more emphatically, and folding her arms tighter, suffered her head to roll 
slowly from side to side, while she surveyed her friend with a contemptuous 

emile. 

Mrs. Gamp resumed, — 

'' Mrs. Harris, Betsey " — 

'< Bother Mrs. Harris ! " said Betsey Prig. 

Mrs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and indignation; when 
Mrs. Prig, shutting her eye still closer, and folding her arms stUl tighter, uttered 
these memorable and tremendous words :— 



236 8C|)e Bfcfeens IBfctfonars. 

" I don't believe there 'a no sich a person I " 

After the utterance of which expressions, she leaned forward, and snapped 
her fingers once, twice, thrice, each time nearer to the face of Mrs. Gamp; and 
then rose to put on her bonnet, as one who felt that there was now a gulf be- 
tween them which nothing could ever bridge across. 

The shock of this blow was so violent and sudden, that Mrs. Gamp sat staring 
at nothing with uplifted eyes, and her mouth open as if she were gasping for 
breath, until Betsey Prig had put on her bonnet and her shawl, and was gather- 
ing the latter about her throat. Then Mrs. Gamp rose, — morally and physically 
rose, — and denounced her. 

" What ! " said Mrs. Gamp, " you bage creetur ! Have I know'd Mrs. Harris 
five and thirty year, to be told at last that there ain't no sech a person livin' ? 
Have I stood her friend in all her troubles, great and small, for it to come at last 
to sech a end as this, which her own sweet picter hanging up afore you all the 
time to shame your bragian words ? But well you may n't believe there 's no 
sech a creetur ; for she would n't demean herself to look at you. And often has 
she said, when I have made mention of your name, which to my sinful sorrow 
I have done, — ' What, Sairey Gamp I debage yourself to her .' ' Go along with 
you I " 

" I 'm a-goin', ma'am; ain't I ? '' said Mrs. Prig, stopping as she said it. 

" You had better, ma'am," said Mrs. Gamp. 

" Do you know who you 're talking to, ma'am ? " inquired her visitor. 

" Aperiently," said Mrs. Gamp, surveying her with scorn from head to foot, "to 
Betsey Prig, — aperiently so. /know her. No one better. Go along with you ! " 

" And you was a-going to take me under you I " cried Mrs. Prig, surveying 
Mrs. Gamp from head to foot, in her turn, — ^' you was; was you I Oh, how 
kind I Why, dense take your imperence I " said Mrs. Prig, with a rapid change 
from banter to ferocity, '* what do you mean ? " 

^' Go along with you I " said Mrs. Gamp. " I blush for you." 

" You had better blush a little for yourself while you are about it I " said Mrs. 
Prig. " You and your Chuffeys I What, the poor old creetur is n't mad enough ; 
is n't he? Aha I" 

" He 'd very soon be mad enough if you had any thing to do with him," 
said Mrs. Gamp. 

" And that 's what I was wanted for; is it ? " cried Mrs. Prig triumphantly. 
" Yes. But you '11 find yourself deceived. I won't go near him. We shall see 
how you get on without me. I won't have nothink to do with him." 

" You never spoke a truer word than that ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " Go along 
with you I " 

(Ch. XXV, xxix, xlix.) 

Bcadder, Zephaniah. Agent of the Eden Land Corporation. 
He dupes Martin Chuzzlewit into buying, for tlie ridiculously small 
sum of a hundred and fifty dollars, a little lot of fifty acres in the 
city from which the company takes its name, and which looks won- 
derfully thriving on paper, but proves to consist of a few log-houses 
in the midst of a hideous and pestilential morass. 

He was a gaunt man in a huge straw hat and a coat of green stuff. The 
weather being hot, he had no cravat, and wore his shirt-collar wide open, so that 
everj- time he spoke something was seen to twitch and jerk up in his throat, like 



ifjttartin €l)u??letoit. 23? 

the little hammers in a harpsichord when the notes are struck. Perhaps it was 
the truth feebly endeavoring to leap to his lips. If so, it never reached them. 

Two gray eyes lurked deep within this agent's head; but one of them had no 
sight in it, and stood stock still. With that side of his face he seemed to listen 
to what the other sMe was doing. Thus each profile had a distinct expression ; 
and, when the movable side was most in action, the rigid one was in its coldest 
state of watchfulness. It was like turning the man inside out, to pass to that 
view of his features in his liveliest mood, and see how calculating and intent 
they were. 

Each long black hair upon his head hung down as straight as any plummet- 
line ; but rumpled tufts were on the arches of his eyes, as if the crow whose foot 
was deeply printed in the corners had pecked and torn them in a savage recog- 
nition of his kindred nature as a bird of prey. 

(Gh. xxi.) 

Simmons, William. Driver of a van, who carries Martin Chuz- 
zlewit from near Salisbury to Hounslow, after his dismissal by Mr. 
Pecksniff. (Ch. xiii.) 

Slyme, Chevy. A very poor and shiftless relative of old Martin 

Chuzzlewit, and anxious to come into a share of his property. He 

is a friend of Montague Tio-g's, who thus describes his character to 

Mr. Pecksniff: — 

" Every man of true genius has his peculiarity. Sir, the peculiarity of my 
friend Slyme is, that he is always waiting round the corner. He is perpetually 
round the corner, sir. He is round the corner at this instant. Now," said the 
gentleman, shaking his forefinger before his nose, and planting his legs wider 
apart as he looked attentively in Mr. Pecksniff's face, " that is a remarkably 
curious and interesting trait in Mr. Slyme's character; and, whenever Slyme's 
life comes to be written, that trait must be thoroughly worked out by his biog- 
rapher, or society will not be satisfied. Observe me, society will not be satis- 
fied." 

With this announcement he hurried away to the outer door of the Blue 
Dragon, and almost immediately returned with a companion shorter than him- 
self, who was wrapped in an old blue camlet cloak witJi a lining of faded scarlet. 
His sharp features being much pinched and nipped by long waiting in the cold, 
and his straggling red whiskers and frowzy hair being more than usually 
dishevelled from the same cause, he certainly looked rather unwholesome and 
uncomfortable than Shakspearian or Miltonic. 

" Now," said Mr. Tigg, clapping one hand on the shoulder of his prepossess- 
ing friend, and calling Mr. Pecksniff's attention to him with the other, " you two 
are related; and relations never did agree, and never will, which is a wise 
dispensation and an inevitable thing, or there would be none but family parties, 
and everybody in the world would bore everybody else to death. If you were 
on good terms, I should consider you a m^^ ' ''edly unnatural pair ; but, 

standing towards each other as you do, I look upon ^ , "^s a couple of devilish 
deep-thoughted fellows, who may be reasoned with to any extent. 

(Ch. iv, vii, 11.) 
Smif, Putnam. A young and ardent clerk in a dry-goods store, 



238 2Ci)e Bicfeens IBictionarg. 

who " aspirates " for fame, and applies to Martin Chuzzlewit for 
assistance. (Ch. xxii.) 

Sophia. A pupil of Ruth Pinch's, called by Mrs. Todgers " a 
syrup" (meaning a seraph or a sylph) ; a premature little woman 
of thirteen years old, who had already arrived at such a pitch of 
whalebone and education, that she had nothing girlish about her. 
(Ch. ix, xxxvi.) 

Spottletoe, Mr. A relative of old Martin Chuzzlewit, with testa- 
mentary designs upon his property. He is so bald, and has such 
big whiskers, that he seems " to have stopped his hair, by the sud- 
den application of some powerful remedy, in the very act of falling 
off his head, and to have fastened it irrevocably on his face." (Ch. 
iv, liv.) 

Spottletoe, Mrs. His wife ; a woman " much too slim for her 
years, and of a poetical constitution.*' (Ch. iv, liv.) 

Sweedlepipe, Paul, called Poll. A bird-fancier, who is an 
easy shaver and a fashionable hair-dresser also ; Mrs. Gamp*s land- 
lord. 

He was a little elderly man, with a clammy cold right hand, from which even 
rabbits and birds could not remove the smell of shaving-soap. Poll had some- 
thing of the bird in his nature ; not of the hawk or eagle, but of the sparrow, 
that builds in chimney-stacks, and inclines to human company. He was not 
quarrelsome, though, Like the sparrow; but peaceful, like the dove. In liis 
walk he strutted; and in this respect he bore a faint resemblance to the pigeon, 
as well as in a certain prosiness of speech, which might, in its monotony, be 
likened to the cooing of that bird. He was very inquisitive ; and when he stood 
at his shop-door in the evening-tide, watching the neighbors, with his head on 
one side, and his eye cocked knowingly, there was a dash of the raven in him. 
Yet there was no more wickedness in Poll than in a robin. Happily, too, when 
any of his ornithological properties were on the verge of going too far, they 
were quenched, dissolved, melted down, and neutralized in the barber; just as 
his bald head — otherwise as the head of a shaved magpie — lost itself in a wig 
of curly black ringlets, parted on one side, and cut away almost to the crown, to 
indicate immense capacity of intellect. 

(Ch. xix, xxvi, xxix, xlix, lii.) 

Tacker. Foreman, and chief mourner of Mr. Mould the under- 
taker. (Ch. xix, XXV.) 

An obese person, with his waistcoat in closer connection witli his legs than 
is quite reconcilable with the established ideas of grace, with that cast of fea- 
ture which is figuratively called a bottle-nose, and with a face covered all over 
with pimples. He had been a tender plant once upon a time, but, from constant 
blowing in the fat air of funerals, had run to seed. 

ramaroo. An old woman* in the service of Mrs. Todgers ; sue- 
cessor to Bailey. (Ch. icxxii, liv.) 



ptartfti €!)ufflelDft 239 

It appeared, in the fulness of time, that the jocular boarders had appropri- 
ated the word [Tamaroo] from an English ballad, in which it is supposed ta 
express the bold and fiery nature of a certain hackney-coachman; and that it 
was bestowed upon Mr. Bailey's successor by reason of her having notliing fiery 
about her, except an occasional attack of that fire which is called St. Anthony s. 
This ancient female ... was chiefly remarkable for a total absence of all com- 
prehension upon any subject whatever. She was a perfect tomb for messages 
and small parcels ; and, when despatched to the post-oflBce with letters, had been 
frequently seen endeavoring to insinuate them into casual chinks in private 
doors, under the delusion that any door with a hole in it would answer the 
purpose She was a very little old woman, and always wore a very coarse apron 
with a bib before, and a loop behind, together with bandages on her wrist, which 
appeared to be afflicted with an everlasting sprain. She was on all occasions 
chary of opening the street-door, and ardent to shut it again ; and she waited at 
table in a bonnet. 
rapley, Mark. Hostler at the Blue Dragon Inn, kept by Mrs. 
Lupin*; a young fellow of some five or six and twenty, with a 
whimsical face and very merry pair of blue eyes, and usually 
dressed in a remarkably free and fly-away fashion. He believes 
that there never "was a man as could come out so strong under 
circumstances that would make other men miserable" as himself, 
if he could "only get a chance." But that he finds it diflicuk to 
do. He takes the situation at the Dragon in consequence of having 
made up his mind that it is the dullest little out-of-the-way corner 
in England, and that there would be some credit in being jolly in 
such a place. But he leaves it because there is no dulness there 
whatever ; skittles, cricket, quoits, ninepins, comic songs, choruses, 
company round the chimney-corner every winter evening, making 
the little inn as merry as merry can be. Going to London, he 
meets Martin Chuzzlewit, and finding him moneyless, and resolved 
to go to America, he begs permission to accompany him as his man- 
servant. After some opposition, Martin consents ; and they take 
passage in the steerage of the packet-ship " Screw." 

It is due to Mark Tapley to state, that he suifered at least as much from sea- 
sickness as any man, woman, or child on board ; and that he had a peculiar fac- 
ulty of knocking himself about on the smallest provocation, and losing his legs 
at every lurch of the ship. But resolved, in his usual phrase, to " come out 
strong" under disadvantageous circumstances, he was the life and soul ot the 
steerage, and made no more of stopping in the middle of a facetious conversa- 
tion to go away and be excessively ill by himself, and afterwards come back m 
the very best and gayest of temper to resume it, than if such a course of pro- 
ceeding had been the commonest in the world. 

It cannot be said, that, as his illness wore off, his cheerfulness ahd good 
nature increased, because they would hardly admit of augmentation; but his 
usefulness among the weaker members of the party was much enlarged; and 
at all times and seasons there he was, exerting it. If a gleam of sunshine shone 



240 5rije Bfcltens 3!9ictionars. 

out of the dark sky, down Mark tumbled into the cabin; and presently up he came 
again with a woman in his arras, or half a dozen children, or a man, or a bed, or 
a saucepan, or a basket, or something, animate or inanimate, that he thought 
would be the better for the air. If an hour or two of fine weather in the middle 
of the day tempted those who seldom or never came on deck at other times to crawl 
into the long-boat, or lie down upon the spare spars, and try to eat, there, in the 
centre of the group, was Mr. Tapley, handing about salt beef and biscuit, or dis- 
pensing tastes of grog, or cutting up the children's provisions with his pocket-knife, 
for their greater ease and comfort, or reading aloud from a venerable newspaper, 
or singing some roaring old song to a select party, or writing the beginnings of 
letters to their friends at home for people who could n't write, or cracking jokes 
with the crew, or nearly getting blown over the side, or emerging half-drowned 
from a shower of spray, or lending a hand somewhere or other ; but always doing 
something for the general entertainment. At night, when the cooking-fire was 
lighted on the deck, and the driving sparks that flew among the rigging and the 
cloud of sails seemed to menace the ship with certain annihilation by fire, in case 
the elements of air and water failed to compass her destruction, there again was 
Mr. Tapley, with his coat off, and his shirt-sleeves turned up to his elbows, doing 
all kinds of culinary oflSces ; compounding the strangest dishes ; recognized by 
every one as an established authority; and helping all parties to achieve some- 
thing, which, left to themselves, they never could have done, and never would have 
dreamed of. In short, there never was a more popular character than Mark Tapley 
became on board that noble and fast-sailing line-of -packet ship " The Screw; "and 
he attained at last to such a pitch of universal admiration, that he began to have 
grave doubts within himself, whether a man might reasonably claim any credit 
for being jolly under such exciting circumstances. 

Arrived at New York, Martin invests all his own means, and 
Mark's, in the purchase of a fifty-acre lot in the distant " city " of 
Eden, which is represented to them as a flourishing town with 
banks, churches, markets, wharfs, and the like. It is Martin's in- 
tention to establish himself here as an architect ; and he takes Mark 
into partnership, in consideration of his having furnished much the 
larger share of their joint stock. On reaching the place, however, 
after a long and fatiguing journey of many days, they find it to be 
a hideous swamp, exhaling deadly miasms, and containing only a few 
scattered log-cabins. Martin is terribly disheartened on discovering 
the outrageous swindle that has been practised upon him, and soon 
sinks under an attack of the fever that prevails throughout the 
settlement. 

" Now, Mr. Tapley," said Mark, giving himself a tremendous blow in the chest 
by way of reviver, "just you attend to what I 've got to say. Things is looking 
about as bad as they can look, young man. You '11 not have such another oppor- 
tunity for showing your jolly disposition, my fine fellow, as long as you live. And 
therefore, Tapley, now 's your time to come out strong, or never I " 

Martin no sooner recovers than Mark is prostrated. For many 
weary days and nights he lies burning up with fever ; but, as long as 



ptartin 0:!)uf?letoit. 241 

he can speak, he assures Martin that he is still "jolly," and when, at 
last, he is too far gone to speak, he feebly writes "jolly " on a slate. 
After a long and lingering illness, he slowly recovers ; and, when able 
to get about once more, they both set their faces towards Old 
England, where they ai-rive in due time. Martin turns his steps to- 
wards the Blue Dragon, and finds his old friend Mrs. Lupin alone in 
the bar. Wrapped up as he is in a great-coat, she does not know him 
at first, but soon utters a glad cry of recognition, and he catches 
her in his arms. 

" Yes, I will I " cried Mark, " another — one more — twenty more I You did n't 
know me in that hat and coat ? I thought you would have known me anywheres. 
Ten more I " 

" So I should have known you if I could have seen you; but I could n't, and 
you spoke so gruff I I did n't think you could speak gruff to me, Mark, at first 
coming back." 

" Fifteen more I " said Mr. Tapley. " How handsome and how young you look ! 
Six more I The last half-dozen warn't a fair one, and must be done over again. 
Lord bless you, what a treat it is to see you I One more ! Well, I never was so 
jolly I Just a few more on account of there not being any credit in it." 

When Mr. Tapley stopped in these calculations in simple addition, he did it, 
not because he was at all tired of the exercise, but because he was out of breath. 
The pause reminded him of other duties. 

"Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit 's outside," he said, " I left him under the cart-shed 
while I came on to see if there was anybody here. We want to keep quiet to- 
night, till we know the news from you, and what it 's best for us to do." 

" There 's not a soul in the house, except the kitchen company," returned the 
hostess. " If they were to know you had come back, Mark, they 'd have a bonfire 
in the street, late as it is." 

' 'But they must n't know it to-night, my precious soul," said Mark : " so have 
the house shut, and the kitchen-fire made up; and, when it 's all ready, put a light 
in the winder, and we '11 come in. One more I I long to hear about old friends. 
You '11 tell me all about 'em; won't you, — Mr. Pinch, and the butcher's dog down 
the street, and the terrier over the way, and the wheelwriglit's, and every one of 
'em. When I first caught sight of the church to-night, I thought the steeple would 
have choked me, I did. One more I Won't you ? Not a very little one to finish 
off with?" 

"You have had plenty, I am sure," said the hostess. "Go along with your 
foreign manners I " 

" That ain't foreign, bless you I " cried Mark. " Native as oysters, that is I One 
Jiore, because it 's native ; as a mark of respect for the land we live in I This 
don't count as between you and me, you understand," said Mr. Tapley. " I ain't 
R.-kissing you now, you '11 observe. I have been among the patriots I I 'm a-kiss- 
in' my country 1 " 

This love-passage ends in the marriage of Mark to the fair widow, 
and the conversion of the Blue Dragon into the Jolly Tapley. " A 
sign of my own invention," said Mark ; " wery new, conwivial, and 
expressive." 

(Ch. V, vii, xiii-xv, xvii, xxi-xxiii, xxxiii-xxxv, xliii, xlviii, ii-liii.) 

21 



242 2C!)e Bfcfeens IBictfonarj. 

Tigg, Montague, alias Tigg Montague. A needy sharper, and 
a friend of Chevy Slyme's. 

The gentleman was of that order of appearance which is currently termed 
shabby-genteel, though, in respect of his dress, he can hardly be said to have 
been in any extremities, as his fingers were a long way out of his gloves, and the 
soles of his feet were at an inconvenient distance from the upper-leather of his 
boots. His nether garments were of a bluish-gray, — violent in its colors once, 
but sobered now by age and dinginess, — and were so stretched and strained in 
a tough conflict between his braces and his straps, that they appeared every 
moment in danger of flying asunder at the knees. His coat, in color blue, and 
of a military cut, was buttoned and frogged up to his chin. His cravat was. ia 
hue and pattern, like one of those mantles which hair-dressers are accustomed 
to wrap about their clients during the progress of the professional mysteries. 
His hat had arrived at such a pass, that it would have been hard to determine 
whether it was originally white or black. But he wore a mustache, — a shaggj 
mustache, too; nothing in the meek and merciful way, but quite in the fierce ana 
scornful style, — the regular satanic sort of thing; and he wore, besides, a vast 
quantity of unbrushed hair. He was very dirty and very jaunty, very bold 
and very mean, very swaggering and very slinking, very much like a man who 
might have been something better, and unspeakably like a man who deserved 
to be something worse. 

At a later period, having come into the possession of a few 
pounds, he unites with David Crimple, a tapster who has saved a 
few pounds (see Crimple, David), and reversing his name, and 
making it Tigg Montague, Esquire, organizes a swindling concern 
called the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance 
Company, and, peculating on a grander scale than formerly, be- 
comes a grander man altogether. 

He had a world of jet-black shining hair upon his head, upon his cheeks, upon 
his chin, upon his upper-lip. His clothes, symmetrically made, were of the new- 
est fashion and the costliest kind. Flowers of gold and blue, and green, and 
blushing red, were on his waistcoat ; precious chains and jewels sparkled on 
his breast; his fingers, clogged with brilliant rings, were as unwieldy as summer 
flies but newly rescued from a honey-pot; the daylight mantled in his gleaming 
hat and boots as in a polished glass : and yet, though changed his name, and 
changed his outward surface, it was Tigg. Though turned and twisted upside 
down and inside out, as great men have been sometimes known to be ; though 
no longer Montague Tigg, but Tigg Montague : still it was Tigg, — the same sa- 
tanic, gallant, military Tigg. The brass was burnished, lacquered, newly 
stamped, yet it was the true Tigg metal notwithstanding. 

Obtaining private information of Jonas Chuzzlewit's attempt to 
poison his father, Tigg makes use of his knowledge of the fact to 
compel him not only to invest largely in the stock of the Anglo- 
Bengalee out of his own wealth, but to persuade his father-in-law, 
Mr. Pecksniff", to do so likewise. Jonas finding his secret known, 
and himself baffled, hunted, and beset, watches his opportunity, and 



piartiii €I)U5?leh)it. 243 

murders Tigg ; but his crime is discovered, and lie is arrested, and 
put into a coach to be carried to prison, but poisons himself on 
the way. (Ch. iv, vii, xii, xiii, xxii, xxviii, xxxviii, xl-xlii, xliv, 
xlvii.) 
Todgers, Mrs. M. Keeper of a commercial boarding-house in 
London ; a bonj and hard-featured lady, with a row of curls in 
front of her head, shaped like little barrels of beer. 

" Presiding over an establishment like tliis makes sad Iiavoc with the fea- 
tures, m7 dear Miss Pecksniffs," said Mrs. Todgers. '< The gravy alone is 
enough to add twenty years to one's age, I do assure you." 

" Lor I " cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. 

" The anxiety of that one item, my dears," said Mrs. Todgers, '' keeps the 
mind continually upon the stretch. There is no such passion in human nature 
as the passion for gravy among commercial gentlemen. It 's nothing to say a 
joint won't yield — a whole animal would n't yield — the amount of gravy they 
expect each day at dinner; and what I have undergone, in consequence," cried 
Mrs. Todgers, raising her eyes, and shaking her head, " no one would believe." 

Though not a handsome woman, Mrs. Todgers is a very kind- 
hearted one ; and when Mrs. Jonas Chuzzlewit (Mercy Pecksniff), 
heart-broken and destitute, applies to her for sympathy and assist- 
ance, she extends both ready hand and heart. 

Commercial gentlemen and gravy had tried Mrs. Todgers's temper: the main 
chance — it was such a very small one, in her case, that she might have been ex- 
cused for looking sharp after it, lest it should entirely vanish from her sight — 
had taken a firm hold on Mrs. Todgers's attention. But in some odd nook in 
Mrs. Todgers-s breast, up a great many steps, and in a corner easy to be over- 
looked, there was a secret door, with " Woman" written on the spring, which, 
at a touch from Mercy's hand, had flown wide open, and admitted her for 
shelter. 

When boarding-house accounts are balanced with all other ledgers, and the 
books of the Recording Angel are made up forever, perhaps there may be seen 
an entry to thy credit, lean Mrs. Todgers, which shall make thee beautiful. 

(Ch. viii-xi,,xxxii, xxxvii, xlvi, liv.) 
Toppit, Miss. A literary lady whom Mrs. Hominy introduces to 
the Honorable Elijah Pogram. (Ch. xxxiv.) 

Westlock, John. A young man who has been a pupil of Peck- 
sniff's, but has a difference with him, and leaves him. He is a 
warm friend of Tom Pinch's, whose sister Ruth he finally marries. 
(Ch. ii, xii, xxv, xxix, xxxvi, xxxvii, xxxix, xl, xlv, xlviii, xlix, 
li-hii.) 

Wolf, Mr. A friend and confederate of Montague Tigg's ; intro- 
duced to Jonas Chuzzlewit as a literary character connected witlj 
a remarkably clever weekly paper. (Ch. xxviii.) 



244 2r|)e ISicfeens Bictionars. 



PRINCIPAL mCIBENTS, 



Chaptek I. Concerning the pedigree of the Chuzzlewit family. — II. Mr. Pecksiiflf, 
about entering his house, is unceremoniously overturned do\vn the steps by the -wind 
Elamming the door in his face; his daughters discover him, and bear him into the house ; 
Mr. Pecksniff's business, and his metliod of obtaining pupils, described; Pecksniff moral- 
izes, and announces to his daughters the engagement of a new pupil; Tom Pinch tries to 
intercede for John ^ estlock, but Mr. Pecksniff will listen to no advances from Tom, or 
from John himself, who leaves in disgust; John tries to open Tom's eyes to the true 
character of Pecksniff, but without effect; John Westlock's departure for London. — III. 
Martin Chuzzlewit, senior, and Mary Graham, arrive at the Blue Dragon; Martin is very 
ill, and the landlady sends for Mr. Pecksniff; Mrs. Lupin mistakes the relation existing 
between Mr. Chuzzlewit and Mary; Mr. Chuzzlewit destroys a paper he had with great 
difficulty written in bed; Mr. Pecksniff arrives at the Blue Dragon, and is greatly scandal- 
ized by the landlady's story of her lodgers ; his surprise at finding in the invalid his cousin 
Mr. Chuzzlewit; Martin acquaints Mr. Pecksniff with the facts of his wealth, and his dis- 
trust of all who court his favor. — IV. Mr. Pecksniff comes in violent contact with Mr. 
Montague Tigg at the door of Mr. Chuzzlewit's chamber; Mr. Tigg eulogizes his friend, 
Mr. Chevy Sl3'me, and informs Mr. Pecksniff of the arrival of Mr. Chuzzlewit's relations; 
a meeting of these relatives is held at Mr. Pecksniff 's house ; the meeting proves any thing 
but hai-monious, each person accusing every other of designs on the property of Mr. Chuz- 
zlewit, and Pecksniff is called some very hard names by his friends ; the meeting breaks 
up on the announcement that Mr. Chuzzlewit has gone no one knows where. — V. Tom 
Pinch drives to Salisbury to meet the new pupil, taking up Mark Tapley on the way; 
Marli informs Tom of his intention to leave the Dragon, and seek a new situation where 
he can get some credit for being jolly; meeting of Tom Pinch and the new pupil, and 
their first impressions of each other; Tom relates to young Martin the circumstance of his 
playing the organ in the church, and of the frequent appearance there of a beautiful young 
lady ; Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters affect surprise at the early arrival of Martin ; Mr. 
Pecksniff shows his house to Martin, and, after supper (on a scale that surprises Tom 
Pinch), shows him to his bedroom, and takes an opportunity to give him a hint of Tom's 
position. — VI. Mr. Pecksniff announces his intention of going to London, and taking his 
daughters with him, and gives Martin some suggestions as to his employment during his 
absence ; Tom and Martin, left alone together, become confidential, and Tom learns of 
Martin's attachment to Mary Graham, and consequent misunderstanding with his grand- 
father; he also learns that his beautiful visitor in the church was Mary.— VII. Tom and 
Martin are surprised by the appearance of Mr. Montague Tigg, who explains that himself 
and Chevy Slyme are detained at the Dragon in default of payment of their bills, and 
Martin and Tom assunne the obligation ; Mr. Slyme shows his independent nature ; Mr. 
Tigg improves a favorable opportunity, and begs the loan of a half-sovereign from Tom 
Pinch; Mark Tapley takes leave of the Blue Dragon. — VIII. Mr. Pecksniff and his 
daughters, journeying to London by the stage-coach, are jomed by Anthony Chuzzlewit 
And his son Jonas, and Mr. Jonas becomes attentive to the young ladies; Mr. Pecksniff 
arrives with his daughters at Mrs. Todgers's Commercial Boarding-House, and that lady 
makes arrangements for their accommodation; situation of Todgers's described. — IX. 
Mr. Pecksniff returns a favorable answer to Mr. Jinkins's round-robin; Pecksniff and his 
daughters call on Tom Pinch's sister; they patronize Miss Pinch, and offend the gentle- 
man of the house; Bailey gives sundry dark hints in regard to the bill of fare for the ap- 
proaching feast ; the gentlemen boarders are presented to the young ladies ; the successfu. 
dinner, graced by the presence of the young ladies, where Mr. Jinkins is triumphant, and 
Mr. Moddle becomes despondent and jealous; Mr. Pecksniff, under the influence of wine, 
becomes a little particular in his attentions to Mrs. Todgers; Mr. Pecksniff is put to bed 
under difficulties. — X. Old Martin Chuzzlewit calls on Mr. Pecksniff, apologizes for his 
former rudeness, and asks an introduction to that gentleman's daughters; ISIr. Chuzzlewit 



carrying out this plan, and takes his ^;;7^;^f^,^^^^^^^^ dissimulation. -XI. Mr 

against Mr. Jinkins; Mr. P^^'^^^^^^J.^/^T''^; the sights of London; after a look at 
Jonas Chuzzlewit invites the joung ladies *« --;*J^« ^^ ^,, introduced to old Chufifey ; 
aU the free spectacles, Jonas takes them to h^^^^^^^ Y^^ Charity makes the tea, and 

Chuffey's dependence upon Mr. ^^"^^ho"/ C^u^^ the sisters through the evenmg, 

receives particular attention from Jonas Jonas e^^^^^^^^^^ of Mrs. Todgers's serenade the 

and then accompanies them home; ^^f ^^""f J*:°" . Mr. Bailey receives a gratmty, 
Toung ladies on the eve of their ^^^^^^'^^t^Zl^^f^n^ take leave, and the 

and makes himself useful; ^'^f^^^^^'^^i^'^^^^^^^ ^'^^ ^^"^^' "^' ''"' '''". 
Pecksniffs start for 1^°"^«--^"\^^"J. ,?!tuc^^^^^^^ JohnWestlock invites Tom and 
,vhatheshalldoforhim.vhenhe inmsein^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^p ,^,, ^ppoint- 

Martin to dine with him at Salisbury '^^^.^.."^^^^ and the hypocrisy of Peck- 

ment; John and Martin discuss t^^^^^'f prejudice"; John returns Tom the money he 
sniff; TomdefendsPecksniff agamst John s Pre^^^^^^^ gentleman any further; John 

had loaned Tigg, and cautions him «g^"^^\*7'* "" , j^ome. is impressed with a sense 
WestlocU, watching Tom and Martin as they set out or home^^^^^ P^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ 
of Martin's selfish misappreciation of Tom sc^^^^^^^ astonished to receive no 

Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters on ^^^^^ ^^^^t^^'^^^^^^^^^ and is dismissed by Pecksniff; 
recognitionfromthem; Martin ^^^^f'^^'^^^^^'^^^^^^^ ^^^r- 

hedetermines togo to America; TomPmhgxve.^^^^^^ and gives him an account of his 

tin meets a friendly '^^^f^:^ ^i'^^^^^'^l^^ZT^^^ Mr. Montague Tigg at a pawn- 
friend who went to the U-nitod States Martin e^^^^^^ .^ ^^^^^^^^. ^^ ^^^^.^.^3 ^ 

broker's, and makesineffectual attempts to find e^^^^^^^ 

twenty-pound note from an unknown hand Mai^kia^^^^ A„,ericawith him; Martin 
and asks to be taken into ^^^^/7"^^' ""f ""°^^^^^^^^^ service, and secures a meet- 

relates his history to Mark; Mark in^aUs ^ ^^^^^^ ^^Z; ,^,,t in the Park; he informs 
ing between his master and Mary -XIV. Mai^Unan^^^^^ y ^^^^^ ^.^^^. ^^^^^ 

her of his intention to go to America ^^^^'''^''ll^^ sends by him her diamond rinp 
escorts Mary home after her farewell '-^^^''^l^^^^^l Screw,'^bound for America, t^s 
to her lover. - XV. Mr. Mark ^^Pley, on board «^^^^^^^^^ fellow-passengers ; Mar- 

anopportunitytobe"jolly,''andmakeshimselfu^^^^^^^ in New York. -XVI. 

tin's pride in avoiding the ^^Wn-passengers; the txavellers^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^^.^ 

Theylcounter colonel Diver who -log^^^^^^^^ 

of "The Screw- and Colone Diver; Mai tin acc^m^^^^^^ ^^.^^ ^.^^^ ^ ^^^^,. 

Bowdy Journal," and ij/"*^«^^^^^^;^ 'f p'/J^^^^.r^here Martin is astonished at the 
they all go to the boarding-house <^i;'''-J^^2^^^ ,,^e of "the most remarkable 
voracity of the boarders, and makes ^^^^/^^.^^.^f ^^^f^^p/l, some of the characteristics 
men of the country;" ^r. Be van accosts Maitm^ai^dexp a ,f America; they 

of the colonel. -XVII. Mr. Bevan surprises Martin by "« ^ former slave, 

find Mark Tapley atthe office of ^^^^^^a: -^troT M "tin r^^^^^^^ of Mr. Norris; 

Whose story he repeats to them ; Mr. »«;7^;. f ^^^J^^^^^^^^^ General Fladdock, who was a 
Martin is much pleased with them, untU l^^^^^l^^J^^^,^,, ^, l,i„,,elf came in the 
tabin-passenger in "The Screw; ^^^^^^^J^^^'^^^^e part of his hosts; Mrs. Jefferson 
steerage from poverty, he finds a ^"'^'i'^^,^; ^"^^^^^^ '^^ Tapley revives Martin's spirits 
Brick describes her -^tendance on certain lectures Mark P^.^^ ^^^^,^^^ ^.^ ^^^^^^^,^ 

by administering a ^l^^^^y-^^^^^--^^^''^^.^"^^ 
will,isstartledbytheappearanceofMr lecksnitt. An y ^^ .^ .^ ^^^ 

^ill be his heir, and advises him to bind him to one of ^is ^aug _^ ^^ ^^^^ 

xnood; suddendeath of Anthony Chuzzlewit^-XIXM^^^^^^^^ of Mr. Jonas, who 

Gamp; Mr. Mould, the "-<i«rtaker, commends the affeet^^^^^^^^^ ^^.^^ ^^ ^^^ 

hasorderednolimitationof expense in the funera^ar^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^ 

death of his old master; ^^^^^'^''''';''^'^^'^^^^^^ Chuffey should "talk some 

was buried, and no -P^^ ^^^^^.^^^^^ in regard to the dowr>. he w.U 

orecious nonsense. " — XX. Jonas que&uuua ^ 



246 2r!)e Bfcltens Bfctfonatg. 



give his daughter in case she should secure such a husband as himself; how Jonas treated 
Pecksniff, and how Pecksniff paid the bill ; Pecksniff, recalling the memory of old An- 
thony, is warned by Jonas never to revive the subject; Mr. Pecksniff takes Jonas home 
with him, and they surprise Cherry in the performance of her household duties ; Jonas 
proposes to Mercy in the presence of her sister, much to the disappointment of the elder 
Bister's hopes ; Tom Pinch announces the approach of old Martin Chuzzlewit and Mary Gra- 
ham. —XXI. Young Martin and Mark Tapley, on the way to Eden, discuss the attractions 
of that locality ; Mr. La Fayette Kettle and General Choke give Martin some information 
new to him in regard to his own country ; the general advises the travellers in regard to 
settling in Eden; Martin takes Mark into partnership ; they consult the agent of the Eden 
Land Corporation, witness the flourishing condition (upon paper) of that city, and pur- 
chase an eligible site; they attend a great meeting of the Watcrtoast Sympathizers, 
and witness the end of that association. — XXII. Martin is lionized by the citizens, and 
invited to deliver a lecture ; on declining, he is forced to hold a " le-Vee ; " Mrs. Hominy is 
introduced ; Captain Kedgick gives Mark the secret of Martin's popularity. — XXIII. The 
travellers proceed on their journey to Eden, leaving Mrs. Hominy at New Thermopylae ; 
arrived at Eden, they find it to consist of a few log-houses in a swamp, and Martin gives 
way to his feelings; Martin is taken ill with fever and ague. — XXIV. Pecksniff receives 
his visitors with assumed surprise ; he prepares Mr. Chuzzlewit's mind for a meeting with 
Jonas, whom he eulogizes as a model and dutiful son; Tom Pinch lights Mr. Chuzzlewit 
and Mary home to the Blue Dragon ; returning, he encounters Jonas, who assaults him, 
and gets the worst of it; Jonas ascribes his injury to accident, but Charity suspects Tom 
to be the cause of it, and thanks him for it ; old Martin tries to arouse Mercy to a sense of 
her future unhappiness if she marries Jonas ; Jonas asks Mercy to fix the day. — XXV. 
Mrs. Gamp calls upon the Moulds, and discourses on the changes of life; she obtains Mr. 
Mould's permission to night-watch a gentleman in connection with taking care of Mr. 
Chuffey, who has been left in her charge during the absence of Jonas ; John Westlock calls 
at the Bull to inquire about Mrs. Gamp's new patient; Betsey Prig introduces Mrs. Gamp 
to her new patient, whose mind is wandering. —XXVI. Mr. Bailey calls upon Poll bweedlc- 
pipe, and hears of the marriage of Jonas; going with Poll toJonas's house to fetch Mrs. 
Gamp, she is surprised to learn that Jonas has married "the merry one; " the bride's 
welcome home. — XXVII. Mr. Montague Tigg appears as Tigg Montague, Esq., chairman 
of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company, of which David 
Crimple is secretary ; meeting of the board of the Anglo-Bengalee ; Doctor Jobling intro- 
duces Jonas Chuzzlewit, who has an interview with Tigg, in which the latter makes him- 
Bclf known to Jonas, and invites him to join the company; Montague instructs Nadgett 
to bring him all the information he can obtain in regard to Jonas Chuzzlewit. — XXVIII. 
Jonas dines with Mr. Tigg and a few friends at that gentleman's house ; he is carried home 
drunk by Mr. Bailey ; Jonas curses his wife, and strikes her. — XXIX. Mr. Bailey has an 
easy shave at the hands of Poll Sweedlepipe; Mrs. Gamp's opinion of Mr. Lewsome's sick- 
ness; Mrs. Gamp and Betsey Prig prepare their patient for a journey; Lewsome tells 
John Westlock he has a secret weighing on his mind. — XXX. Mr. Pecksniff reproves his 
eldest daughter for her jealousy of her sister; and at her request consents to place her at 
Mrs. Todgers's in the city ; Pecksniff informs Martin of Charity's proposed departure, and 
invites him to come and stay with him for the sake of Mary ; Mr. Pecksniff meets Mary, 
and forces her to listen to an offer of marriage, which she spurns, and he thi-eatens to use 
his influence with Mr. Chuzzlewit against his grandson, unless she submits; Cherry in- 
forms Tom Pinch of her intended departure.— XXXI. Pecksniff witnesses in the church 
an interview between Tom Pinch and Mary, in which she opens Tom's eyes to the true 
character of his employer; Pecksniff complains to Mr. Chuzzlewit that he has been cruelly 
deceived by Thomas Pinch ; he accuses Tom, in the presence of Mr. Chuzzlewit, of ad- 
dressing proposals of love to Mar3- in the church ; Tom makes no reply, but returns to 
Pecksniff his double-eyeglass which he had found in the church, and leaves the house; 
lom declines Mrs. Lupin's invitation to stay at the Dragon, and goes to Salisbury. — 
XXXII. Miss Pecksniff arrives at Mrs. Todgers's, and receives a pathetic account of the 
»tate of Mr. Augustus Moddle; Charity becomes attentive to Mr. Moddlc, and draws him 
»n to a proposal of marriage, which, of course, she accepts. — XXXIII. Mr. Mark Tapley 
4nds that his fellow-passengers on " The Screvr " are his next-door neighbors in Eden ; Mr 



Plattfn Ql\iU}^lt\iiiU 247 

fTnnnihal PholloT) calls upon the new settlers ; Mark's free speaking does not please him, 
d elrnsS tfrest^^ it; Martin recovers, after x^any weeks, and Mark is then 
?ii on in bv these experiences Martin learns the lesson of self-sacrifice, and, uponMark s 
recovery' con ShTmn regard to returning home ; Martin writes to Mr. Bevan for assxst- 
I^e on'reS of which they start homeward. - XXXIV. Martin is mtrodaced to the 
rn;rble Sh Fog am, M.C. ; Mr. Pogram glorifies the institutions of the country and 
Srbutes Martin's di^^^^^ Captain Kedgick is surprised to see the 

trSers iturn ^ Mr. Pogram holds a le-Vee by request of a committee of t»^e citizen ; 
^e ifof Mrs. Hominy a^id Elijah Pogram; Martin and Mark -f -"J^J-^'^^t 
Mr Rovm and learn that " The Screw " is in port, and ready to sail for England tho next 
dav Mark^M^ a cook, andsopays theirpassage, enabling them to decline the assistance 
0? Mr B van -xSxV Arriving in England, they witness the laying of the corner-.tone 
.newbuUding atwhich Mr. Pecksniff, as architect, plays a prominent part; Mart n 
reco Xes the pL of the building as his own, which he designed when studying ^ith 
PeckCff-XXXVI. Tom Pinch starts for London to seek his fortune ; he takes leave of 
Mrs Sn; arri^4 in London, he calls upon John Westlock at Fumival's I-; ^ho is 
Seghtedto see him, and insists upon his staying with him; Tom goes to ^^^ his s.te^^ 
and!findirg her subjected to the incivility of servants and the unjust censure of her em- 
;Sers, h^expresseshis indignation, and takes her away with him ; '^-"'^^^f ^^^.J^f 
lodoin<.s at Islington. -XXXVIL Tom encounters Miss Cliarity Pecksmff in the stieet. 
andliswihS^ Mercy gives Tom a mes- 

sa'^lor lid Mr. Chuzzlewit; Charity introduces Tom to Mr. Moddle; Tom tells John 
W;ti:ckhLtory,and returns to Ruth.-XXXVIII. M.Kadgc^^ 

as ordered by Mr. Montague ; he reports the result of his investigations in writ ng to his 
emploj'r; Jonas calls upon Mr. Montague, who keeps Nadgett present at their mtenuejv^ 
i "which he proposes that Jonas should go deeper into their scheme, and <i---^- ^- 
ther-in-law also, and gives Jonas, in a whisper, good reason forcomplying. -XXXIX. lom 
Pnch and Ruth commence their housekeeping ; how Ruth makes a beefsteak puddingy 
and how John Westlock happens in in season to witness the operation ; John narrates the 
: fcumTtances Of a call he had received from a gentleman who offered Tom, though him^ 
a situation as secretary and librarian, with a salary of one hundred pounds ; John and Tom 
call uprMi. Fips, the agent of Tom's employer; Mr. Fips shows Tom the place where 
Swkiftobe^butdecUnes to give his employer's name; John dines with Tom and his 
S^r and hears'Tom's account of his leaving Pecksniff, and of the ^^-f -" ^;-^^-;^.; 
famil V - XL. Tom enters upon his duties and makes considerable progress, but the mysteiy 
of WsempToyer is still unsolved; Tom and Ruth, taking a morning-walk near the steam- 
boa rS encounter Mrs. Gamp, anxiously seeking for " The Ankworks Package ;' Mi- 
Gamp disc;vers the persons of whom slie is in search, and points them out to Tom ; Tom 
is Zazed to see Nadgett at his elbow, making inquiries for the same parties ; a Gadget 
revest Tom carries the man a letter, and is astonished to recognize Jonas Chuzzlewit; 
effec of the letter upon Jonas, who drags his wife from the steamer, meets Montague upon 
the wharf and drives off with him. - XLI. Montague threatens Jonas with a disclosure of 
thelec- the possesses, unless he accedes to his demands; Montague proposes that Jonas 
should entce Pecksniff to invest with them, and, at Jonas's request, consents to go with 
him Pecksiiff's , Jonas lunches with Jobling, and questions him in a careless way about 
tCuse ot his lancets; the doctor narrates the particulars of a remarkable murder. - 
XLII Journey of the wo friends to Salisbury during a violent storm; the carnage is 
Overturned the horses thrown down, and Jonas attempts to force them upon Montagu^e 
Xtly'ng senseless in the road, but is stopped by the driver; Bailey, who accompan^es 
Them receTves severe injuries from the accident ; Montague resolves to travel home alone 
-llxLIII Mrs. Lupin, siUing alone in her bar, is accosted by a ^--^1- -*^^«;Xr iS 
MarkTaplev the traveller proves to be Mark himself, who, accompanied by Martm, has 
Tust arri ed they learn from Mrs. Lupin the changes in Pecksniff's family and the influ- 
; e P ksniff has acquired over old Mr. Ch.zzlewit ; Martin <ietermines to call up<Mi In 
grandfather, and sends Mark with a letter reqaesting leave to -^^ "^f j ;^^;7,^^JX;'^o 
Siiff receives at the door, and destroys ; Martin, accompanied by ''I'X^^^'l^Z^'^^^^^^^ 
Pecksniff's house, and appeals to his grandfather, who allows I'.l^^^«^f /" ^^^^^^^^ 
aim; Martin has an interview with Mary, and learns of Pecksmff s suit for her hand. 



248 2r!)e Bfcftens JSfctionarj. 

leaving Pecksniflf's house, they meet Jonas going there. —XLIV. Mr. Pecksniff receives 
his son-in-law with tender Inquiries for his daughters; Jonas informs Pecksniff of his 
business, introduces him to Montague, and secures the investment of his capital in their 
concern ; Jonas leaves Montague to complete the arrangements with Pecksniff, and returns 
to London. — XLV. Ruth Pinch, waiting for Tom in Fountain Court, is joined by John 
Westlock, who takes Tom and his sister home to his rooms to dine. — XLVI. Tom relates 
the occurrences of the morning on the wharf, and John suspects foul play ; Tom and Buth, 
going to call on Mrs. Jonas Chuzzlewit, meet Miss Pecksniff and Mr. Moddle, who accom- 
pany them ; Mrs. Gamp makes tea for the company, and admonishes Mr. Chuffey ; Jonas 
returns home, is incensed to find Tom there, and forces him to leave the house; Jonas 
retires to a private room, giving orders that he shall not be disturbed, and under cover of 
the darkness, and in disguise, escapes from the house by an unfrequented way. — XLVII. 
Jonas returns to Wiltshire, concealed by his disguise, lies in wait for Montague, waylays 
him as he is passing through a piece of woods, murders him, and returns by night to Lon- 
don ; in the morning Jonas is called by his wife, who informs him that Nadgett had called 
very early to see him. — XLVIIL Tom and Euth are surprised by a call from Martin and 
Mark ; Martin gives Tom an account of his circumstances, and by his advice they go to 
consult John Westlock, who receives them with some embarrassment on account of hav- 
ing a visitor ; Tom and Mark leave Martin with John, and as they walk along Mark informs 
Tom of the settlement he proposes to make in life ; John introduces Martin to his visitor, 
Mr. Lewsome, who narrates his instrumentality in the death of Anthony Chuzzlewit, and 
fixes the responsibility upon Jonas, whom he accuses of his father's murder; Martin and 
John determine what course to pursue. — XLIX. Mrs. Gamp entertains Betsey Prig at her 
apartment in Kingsgate Street, but that lady showing some unpleasant feeling, and ventur- 
ing to express a doubt of the existence of Mrs. Harris, the friends quarrel, and part; John 
and Martin arrive just at this moment, and learn from Mrs. Gamp some particulars in 
regard to Chuffey. — L. Martin accuses Tom Pinch of unfairness, greatly to Tom's sur- 
prise ; Ruth tells Tom she has discovered his secret love for Mary ; Tom's employer at last 
appears. — LI. Jonas Chuzzlewit thinks to carry out his plan for silencing Mr. Chuffey; 
Mrs. Gamp arrives, and is soon followed by old Martin and John Westlock, who are fol- 
lowed by Lewsome and Mark Tapley ; Lewsome states all the circumstances relating to 
Jonas's murder of his father, which Chuffey contradicts, by relating how his old master 
and himself had discovered Jonas's designs, and that Anthony had died from a broken 
heart, and not from poison ; Jonas, thinking himself cleared by this testimony, orders them 
from the room, when Nadgett enters with officers, and arrests him for the murder of Mon- 
tague ; Nadgett's narrative of how he had tracked Jonas, and discovered the murder of his 
father, and then that of Montague ; Jonas attempts to bribe Slyme, who is one of the 
ofiacers, to allow him to kill himself, but, failing in this, he commits suicide by taking poison 
as they are carrying him to jail. — LII. Mark Tapley waits upon old Martin Chuzzlewit by 
his request; he admits, in turn, Mr. John Westlock, Tom Pinch and his sister, young 
Martin, and Miss Graham and Mrs. Lupin; lastly Mr. Pecksniff enters, and reproaches 
them all for taking advantage of the old man, when the old man strikes him down with 
his staff; Martin compels Pecksniff to listen to his exposure of his meanness, and to wit- 
ness his reconciliation with young Martin ; Mr. Pecksniff takes his departure ; Mrs. Gamp, 
Mr. Poll Swecdlepipe, and the revived Mr. Bailej', appear and disappear for the last time. 
— LIIL John Westlock declares his love to Ruth, and finds it reciprocated; happiness of 
old Martin in the joy of the lovers; he entertains them all at dinner; Miss Pecksniff 
makes arrangements for her wedding. — LI V. Mr. Chuzzlewit calls upon Mercy at Mrs. 
fodgers's, and invites her to place herself under his care ; Mark Tapley welcomes home 
his old neighbors in Eden ; how Mr. Augustus Moddle deserted his bride, and Miss Peck* 
sniff was not married ; what Tom Pinch saw as time passed on. 



Ql\)t Cl)tme0* 



A GOBLIN STORY OF SOME BELLS THAT RANG AN OLD 
YEAR OUT, AND A NEW YEAR IN. 



This, the second of the Christmas books, was brought out in 1844 by Bradbury 
and Evans. It was illustrated with a frontispiece and title on steel by Daniel Ma- 
clise, and with woodcuts from drawings by John Leech, Richard Doyle, and 
Clarkson Staufield. 



CHABACTERS INTBODUCED. 

Bowley, Lady. Wife to Sir Joseph Bowley ; a very stately lady. 
(2d quarter.) 

Bowley, Master. Her son, a little gentleman aged twelve. 
(3d quarter.) 

Bowley, Sir Joseph. An old and very stately gentleman, who 
is a member of parliament, and who prides himself upon being the 
" poor man's friend and father." The poor man in his district 
he considers his business. " I endeavor," he says, " to educate his 
mind by inculcating on all occasions the one great moral lesson 
which that class requires ; that is, entire dependence on myself. 
(2d, 3d quarter.) 

Chickenstalker, Mrs. Anne. A stout old lady, keeper of a 
shop " in the general line," who, Toby Veck dreams, is married to 
Tugby, Sir Joseph Bowley's porter. (2d, 4th quarter.) 

Cute, Alderman. A plain man and a practical man ; an easy, af- 
fable, joking, knowing fellow, up to every thing, and not to be im- 
posed on ; one who understands the common people, and has not 
the least difficulty in dealing with them. Being a justice, he thinks 

249 



250 8CI)e ©fcfeens ©fctfonats. 

he can " put down " any thing among " this sort of people," and so 
sets about putting down the nonsense that is talked about want, 
and the cant in vogue about starvation ; and declares his intention 
of putting down distressed wives, boys without shoes and stock- 
ings, wandering mothers, and indeed all young mothers of all sorts 
and kinds, all sick persons and young children ; and, if there is one 
thing on which he can be said to have made up his mind more than 
on another, it is to put suicide down. Under this name Mr. Dick- 
ens scarified Sir Peter Laurie, a wealthy Scotch saddler residing 
in London, who was knighted in 1823 on being appointed sheriff of 
London and Middlesex, and who was chosen alderman from Alders- 
gate in 1826, and was elected lord-mayor in 1832. Sir Peter was 
a garrulous and officious magistrate, severe in his treatment of the 
poor, and in the habit of threatening to put down want, vagabond- 
age, suicide, and the like, among them. (1st, 3d quarter.) 

Fern, Lilian. An orphan ; niece to Will Fern. (2d-4th quarter.) 

Pern, "Will. A poor but honest man, who only wants " to live like 
one of the Almighty's creeturs," but has a bad name, and can 't. 
(2d-4th quarter.) 

Filer, Mr. A low-spirited gentleman of middle age, of a meagre 
habit and a disconsolate face, full of facts and figures, and ready to 
prove any thing by tables; a friend of Alderman Cute's. (1st, 3d 
quarter.) 

Fish, Mr. Confidential secretary to Sir Joseph Bowley. (2d, 3d 
quarter.) 

Lilian. See Fern, Lilian. 

Richard. A handsome, well-made, powerful young smith, engaged 
to Meg Veck. (1st, 3d, 4th quarter.) 

Tugby. Porter to Sir Joseph Bowley ; afterwards married, as 
Toby Veck dreams, to Mrs. Chickenstalker. (2d, 4th quarter.) 

Veck, Margaret or Meg. Toby Veck's daughter. (lst-4th 
quarter.) 

Veck, Toby, called Trotty from his pace, " which meant speed, 
if it did n't make it." A ticket-porter. 

A weak, small, spare old man, he was a very Hercules, this Toby, in his 
good intentions. He loved to earn his money. He delighted to believe — Toby 
was very poor, and could n't well afford to part with a delight — that he was 
worth his salt. With a shilling or an eigh teen-penny message or small parcel 
in hand, his courage, always high, rose higher. As he trotted on, he would call 
out to fast postmen ahead of him to get out of the way, devoutly believing, 
that, in the natural course of things, he must inevitably overtake and run them 



down; and he had perfect faith — not often tested— in his being able to carry 
any thing that man could lift. 

Toby has a great liking for the bells in the church near his station. 

Being but a simple man, he invested them with a strange and solemn charac- 
ter. They were so mysterious (often heard, and never seen), so high up, so far 
off, so full of such a deep, strong melody, that he regarded them with a species 
of awe; and sometimes, when he looked up at the dark arched windows in the 
tower, he half expected to be beckoned to by something which was not a bell, 
and yet was what he heard so often sounding in the chimes. For all this, Toby 
scouted with indignation a certain flying rumor that the chimes were haunted, 
as implying the possibility of their being connected with any evil thing. In short; 
they were very often in his ears, and very often in his thoughts, but always in his 
good opinion; and he very often got such a crick in his neck by staring, with his 
mouth wide open, at the steeple where they hung, that he was fain to take an ex- 
tra trot or two afterwards to cure it. 

On Christmas Eve, Toby falls asleep by the fireside, while read- 
ing a newspaper, and dreams that he is called by the chimes, and 
so goes up into the church-tower, which he finds peopled by dwarf 
phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of the bells, of all aspects, shapes, 
characters, and occupations. As he gazes, the spectres disappear, 
and he sees in every bell a bearded figure, mysterious and awful, of 
the bulk and stature of the bell, — at once a figure and the bell itself 
The Great Bell, or the Goblin of the Great Bell, after arraigning 
him for sundry instances of wrong-doing, puts him in charge of the 
Spirit of the Chimes, a little child, who shows him various sorrow- 
ful scenes of the future, the actors in which he knows, and some 
of whom are very near and dear to him. But all these scenes point 
the same moral, — " that we must trust and hope, and neither doubt 
ourselves, nor the good in one another." And when Toby breaks the 
spell that binds him, and wakes up suddenly with a leap that brings 
him upon his feet, he is beside himself with joy to find that the 
chimes are merrily ringing in the New Year, and that all the sin 
and shame and sufiering and desperation which he has witnessed 
is but the baseless fabric of a vision. The lesson is not forgotten, 
however, and the New Year is made all the happier by his troubled 
dream. 



©l)^ (Cricket on tl)t §eartl). 

A FAIRY TALE OF HOME. 



Published in 1845, inscribed to Lord Jeflfrey, and illustrated with a frontis 
piece and titlepage by MacUse, and woodcuts from drawings by Doyle, Leech, 
Clarkson, Stanfield, and Landseer. 

The story takes its name from the quaint description with which it opens, of 
a match or trial of skill, in the cozy home of an English carrier, between the 
tea-kettle and a cricket, in which the latter gains the victory. " To have a cricket 
on the hearth," Dot, the carrier's wife, tells her husband, " is the luckiest thing 
in all the world." 



CHARACTEBS INTRODUCED. 

Boxer. John Peerybingle's dog. (Chirp lst-3d.) 

Dot. See Peerybingle, Mrs. Mary. 

Fielding, May. A friend of Mrs. Peerybingle's. She is over- 
persuaded into consenting to bestow her hand upon Tackleton, a 
surly, sordid, grinding old man ; but, on the morning of the day ap- 
pointed for the wedding, she marries Edward Plummer, a former 
lover, who suddenly returns after a long absence, and whom she 
has believed to be dead. (Chirp 2d, 3d.) 

Fielding, Mrs. Her mother ; a little, querulous chip of an old 
lady with a peevish face, and a most transcendent figure (in right 
of having preserved a waist like a bedpost). She is very genteel 
and patronizing, in consequence of having once been better off, or of 
laboring under an impression that she might have been, if something 
had happened (in the indigo-trade) which never did happen, and 
seemed to have never been particularly likely to happen. (Chirp 
2d, 8d.) 

262 



5r|)e (ttrfcfeet on t!)e JQ^eattJ). 253 

Peerybingle, John. A large, sturdy man, much older than his 
wife, but " the best, the most considerate, the most affectionate, of 
husbands " to her. (Chirp lst-3d.) 

He was often near to something or other very clever, by his own account, 
this lumbering, slow, honest John ; this John so heavy, but so light of spirit ; 
so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core; so dull without, so quick 
within ; so stolid, but so good 1 O mother Nature I give thy children the true 
poetry of heart that hid itself in this poor carrier's breast, — he was but a 
carrier, by the way, — and we can bear to have them talking prose, and leading 
lives of prose, and bear to bless thee for their company. 

Peerybingle, Mrs. M ary, called^OTyrom her small size. His 

wife, a blooming young woman, witk a very doll of a baby. (Chirp 

lst-3d.) 
Plummer, Caleb. A poor toymaker in the employ of Tackleton ; 

a spare, dejected, thoughtful, gray-haired old man, wholly devoted 

to his blind daughter. (Chirp lst-3d.) 
Plummer, Bertha. His daughter, a blind girl. With her father, 

she lives in " a little cracked nutshell of a wooden house, . . . 

stuck to the premises of Gruff and Tackleton Uke a barnacle to a 

ship's keel." 

I have said that Caleb and his poor blind daughter lived here. I should have 
said that Caleb lived here, and his poor blind daughter somewhere else, — in an 
enchanted home of Caleb's furnishing, where scarcity and shabbiness were not, 
and trouble never entered. Caleb was no sorcerer, but in the only magic art 
that stiU remains to us, — the magic of devoted, deathless love. Nature had been 
the mistress of his study ; and from her teaching all the wonder came. 

The blind girl never knew that ceilings were discolored ; walls blotched, and 
bare of plaster here and there ; high crevices unstopped, and widening every day ; 
beams mouldering, and tending downward. The blind girl never knew that 
iron was rusting, wood rotting, paper peeling off; the size and shape, and true 
proportion of the dwelling, withering away. The blind girl never knew that 
ugly shapes of delf and earthenware were on the board ; that sorrow and faint- 
heartedness were in the house ; that Caleb's scanty hairs were turning grayer 
and more gray before her sightless face. The blind girl never knew they bad 
a master cold, exacting, and uninterested; never knew that Tackleton was 
Tackleton, in short, but lived in the belief of an eccentric humorist, who loved 
to have his jest with them, and who, while he was the guardian angel of their 
lives, disdained to hear one word of thankfulness. 

And all was Caleb's doing; all the doing of her simple father! 

The consequence of this well-meant but ill-judged deception is, 
that Bertha comes secretly to love Tackleton with unspeakable af 
fection and gratitude, and is nearly heart-broken on jfinding that he 
means to marry May Fielding. This compels her father to tell her 
the truth ; to confess that he has altered objects, changed the char- 
^.^ters of people, invented many things that never have been, to 

22 



254 2r!)e Bicfeens Dfctfonarg. 

make her happier. The shock to her sensitive nature is great ; hv* 
instead of losing her confidence in him, she clings to him all the 
more closely, and cherishes him all the more devotedly, for his inno- 
cent deceit, springing from motives so pure and unselfish. (Chirp 
2d, 3d.) 

Lovely as the character of Bertha is, it cannot be said to be 
true to nature ; and there is much justice in the following criticism 
from The London "Times:" — 

"So, Mr. Dickens, are not the blind misled. Exquisite are the spared senses, mercifully 
strengthened by Providence to make amends for the one tremendous deprivation. The 
fingers of the blind read the Bible ; the ears of the blind — the figure is a bold one — see 
the friendly visitor long before you or I, even whilst his foot is lingering at the threshold. 
Would you have us believe that touch, feeling, hearing, remained for twenty years tor- 
pid and dead in the sensitive creature whom you have spoiled by your perversion ? We 
tell you. and not without good warrant for the assertion, that no man living, journeyman 
or master, has power to stop up the avenues through which knowledge rushes to the 
soul of a poor innocent deprived of sight. Bertha, by your own account, had mixed in 
the world ; she talked wisely, and even profoundly, on abstruse matters ; she worked 
with her father; she knew every toy in the room, and where to seek it, and how to 
make it ; she was in daily intercourse with those who kncAV the character of Tackle- 
ton, and who spoke of him with freedom. And yet you ask us to beliCA'C that this young 
lass, all feeling and perception, never knew ' that walls were blotched, and bare of plas- 
ter here and there; that iron was rusting, wood rotting, paper peeling off; that sorrow 
and faint-heartedness were in the house; that they had a master cold, exacting, un- 
interested.' If we believe you, it must be when Nature proves a liar. 

Plummer, Edward. Son to Caleb, and brother to Bertha Plum- 
mer. After a long absence in the " Golden South Americas," he 
returns to claim the hand of May Fielding, to whom he had been 
engaged before leaving home. Hearing, when twenty miles away, 
that she has proved false to him, and is about to marry old Tackle- 
ton, he disguises himself as an old man, for the sake of observing 
and judging for himself, in order to get at the real and exact truth. 
He makes himself known to Mrs. Peerybingle (" Dot "), who ad- 
vises him to keep his secret close, and not even to let Mr. Peery- 
bingle know it, he being much too open in his nature, and too clumsy 
in all artifice, to keep it for him. She also ofiers to sound his sweet- 
heart, and to go between them, and bring them together, which she 
does, and has the pleasure of seeing them married, and of express- 
ing a hope that Tackleton may die a bachelor. Her mediation, 
however, becomes known, in part, to her husband, who misconstrues 
her actions, and suspects her of being untrue to himself. But in the 
end every thing is satisfactorily explained, and everybody is made 
happy ; while even the kettle hums for joy, and the cricket joins the 
music with its " Chirp, chirp, chirp." (Chirp lst-3d.) 



Sije ©ticket on tl)e Jl^eartl). 255 

Slowboy, Tilly. Mrs. Peerybingle's nursery-maid; a great, 
clumsy girl, who is very apt to hold the baby topsy-turvy, and who 
has a habit of mechanically reproducing, for ks entertainment, 
scraps of current conversation, with all the sense struck out of them, 
and all the nouns changed into the plural number, as when she 
asks, " Was it Gruffs and Tackle tons the toy-makers, then ? " and 
" Would it call at pastry-cooks for wedding-cakes ? " and " Did its 
mothers know the boxes when its fathers brought them home ? " 
and so on. (Chirp lst-3d.) 

Tackleton, called Gruff and Tackleton. A toy-merchant, 

stern, ill-natured, and sarcastic, with one eye always wide open, and 

one eye nearly shut. 

Cramped and chafing in the peaceable pursuit of toy-making, he was a do- 
mestic ogre, who had been living on children all his life, and was their impla- 
cable enemy. He despised all toys ; would n't have bought one for the world ; 
delighted, in his malice, to insinuate grim expressions into the faces of brown 
paper farmers who drove pigs to market, bellmen who advertised lost lawyers' 
consciences, movable old ladies who darned stockings or carved pies, and other 
like samples of his stock in trade. In appalling masks, hideous, hairy, red-eyed 
Jacks in boxes, vampire kites, demoniacal tumblers who would n't lie down, 
and were perpetually flying forward to stare infants out of countenance, his 
soul perfectly revelled. They were his only relief and safety-valve. 

After the marriage of his betrothed. May Fielding, to Edward 
Plummer (see above), he turns his disappointment to good account 
by resolving thenceforth to be, and by actually becoming, a pleasant, 
hearty, kind, and happy man. (Chirp lst-3d.) 



3:i)e Battk of €x(t. 

A LOVE-STORY. 



Published in 1846, with a frontispiece and titlepage engraved on wood, from 
drawings by Maclise, and with woodcuts inserted in the text, from designs by 
Doyle, Leech, and Stanfield. 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED, 

Britain, Benjamin, called Little Britain. A small man with 
an uncommonly sour and discontented face ; servant to Doctor Jed- 
dler, afterwards husband of Clemency Newcome, and landlord of 
the Nutmeg Grater Inn. He gives this summary of his general 
condition : " I don't know any thing ; I don't care for any thing ; 
I don't make out any thing; I don't believe any thing; and I 
don't want any thing." (Part 1-3.) 

CraggS, Mr. Thomas. Law-partner of Jonathan Snitchey. He 
seems to be represented by Snitchey, and to be conscious of little 
or no separate existence or personal individuality. (Part 1, 2.) 

Craggs, Mrs. His wife. (Part 2.) 

Heathfield, Alfred. A young medical student ; a ward of Doc- 
tor Jeddler's, and engaged to his younger daughter Marion. On 
coming of age, he starts on a three-years' tour among the foreign 
schools of medicine. In the very hour of his return, Marion flees 
from home, eloping, as it is supposed, with a young bankrupt named 
Michael Warden. After a time, her elder sister Grace becomes 
Alfred's wife ; and it finally transpires that Marion, though deeply 
loving him, discovers that Grace also loves him, and, deeming herself 
to be less worthy of such a husband, sacrifices her own happiness to 
insure her sister's. But, instead of eloping with young Warden, she 
retires to an aunt's, who lives at a distance, where she remains se- 
cluded until after her sister's marriage has taken place. (Part 1-3.) 

Jeddler, Doctor Anthony. A great philosopher, the heart and 

256 



mt JJattlc of Hifc. 257 

mystery of whose philosophy is to look upon the world as a gi- 
gantic practical joke, or as something too absurd to be considered 
seriously by any practical man. But the loss of his favorite daugh- 
ter, " the absence of one little unit in the great absurd account," 
strikes him to the ground, and shows him how serious the world is, 
" in which some love, deep-anchored, is the portion of all human 
creatures." (Part 1-3.) 

Jeddler, Grace. His elder daughter ; married to Alfred Heath- 
field. (Part 1-3.) See Heathfield, Alfred. 

Jeddler, Marion. His younger daughter. (Part 1-3.) See 
Heathfield (Alfred), Warden (Michael). 

Martha, Aunt. Sister to Doctor Jeddler. (Part 3.) 

Newcome, Clemency. Servant to Doctor Jeddler ; afterwards 
married to Benjamin Britain. (Part 1-3.) 

She was about thirty years old, and had a sufficiently plump and cheerful face, 
though it was twisted up into an odd expression of tightness that made it comical ; 
but the extraordinary homeliness of her gait and manner would have superseded 
any face in the world. To say that she had two left legs, and somebody else's 
arms; and that all four limbs seemed to be out of joint, and to start from per- 
fectly wrong places when they were set in motion, — is to offer the mildest outline 
of the reality. To say that she was perfectly content and satisfied with these 
arrangements, and regarded them as being no business of hers; and that she 
took her arms and legs as they came, and allowed them to dispose of themselves 
just as it happened, — is to render faint justice to their equanimity. Her dress 
was a prodigious pair of self-willed shoes that never wanted to go where her 
feet went, blue stockings, a printed gown of many colors and the most hideous 
pattern procurable for money, and a white apron. She always wore short sleeves, 
and always had, by some accident, grazed elbows, in which she took so lively an 
Interest, that she was continually trying to turn them round and get impossible 
views of them. In general, a little cap perched somewhere on her head, though 
It was rarely to be met with in the place usually occupied in other subjects by 
that article of dress ; but from head to foot she was scrupulously clean, and 
maintained a kind of dislocated tidiness. Indeed, her laudable anxiety to be 
tidy and compact in her own conscience, as well as in the public eye, gave rise 
to one of her most startling evolutions, which was to grasp lierself sometimes 
by a sort of wooden handle (part of her clothing, and familiarly called a bu.sk^. 
and wrestle, as it were, with her garments, until they fell into a symmetrical ar- 
rangement. 

Snitchey, Jonathan. Law-partner of Thomas Craggs. (Part 1-3.) 

Snitchey, Mrs. His wife. (Part 2.) 

Warden, Michael. A client of Messrs. Snitchey and Craggs ; a 
man of thu'ty who has sown a good many wild oats, and finds his 
afi"airs to be in a bad way in consequence. He repents, however, 
and reforms, and finally marries Marion Jeddler, whom he has long 
loved. (Part 2, 3.) 
22* 



IDombeg anir Qon. 



On the first of October, 1846, Messrs. Bradbury and Son issued the first num- 
ber of a new serial novel, under the title of " Dealings with the Firm of Dombey 
and Son, Wholesale, Retail, and for Exportation." Each part was illustrated 
with two engravings on steel by Hablot K. Browne (" Phiz "). The publication 
of the work extended over twenty months ; and on its completion, in 1848, it was 
brought out in a single octavo volume, and was " Dedicated with great esteem to 
the Marchioness of Normanby.'' 



CHARACTEES INTRODUCED. 

Anne. A housemaid at Mr. Dombey's, beloved by Towlinson, the 
footman. (Ch. xviii, xxxi, xxxv, lix.) 

Bagstock, Major Joseph. A retired army officer, wooden- 
featured and blue-faced, with his eyes starting out of his head. 
He is a near neighbor of Miss Tox, between whom and himself an 
occasional interchange of newspapers and pamphlets, and the like 
Platonic dalliance, is effected through the medium of a dark ser- 
vant of the major's, whom Miss Tox is content to designate as a 
'• native," without connecting him with any geographical idea vrhat- 
ever. 

Although Major Bagstock had arrived at what is called in polite literature 
the grand meridian of life, and was proceeding on his journey down hill with 
hardly any throat, and a very rigid pair of jaw-bones, and long-flapped elephan- 
tine ears, and his eyes and complexion in the state of artificial excitement al- 
ready mentioned, he was mightily proud of awakening an interest in Miss Tox, 
and tickled his vanity with the fiction that she was a splendid woman, who had 
her eye on him. This he had several times hinted at the club, in connection 
with little jocularities, of which old Joe Bagstock, old Joey Bagstock, old J. 
Bagstock, old Josh. Bagstock, or so forth, was the perpetual theme; it being, 
as it were, the major's stronghold and donjon-keep of light humor to be on the 
most familiar terms with his own name. 
258 



IBomfieg anti Son. 25$> 

"Joey B., sir," the major would say, with a flourish of his walking-stick, " is 
worth a dozen of you I If you had a few more of the Bagstock breed among 
you, sir, you 'd be none the worse for it. Old Joe, sir, need n't look far for a 
wife, even now, if he was on the lookout: but he's hard-hearted, sir, is Joe; 
he '8 tough, sir, — tough, and de-vilish sly 1 " After such a declaration, wheez- 
ing sounds would be heard; and the major's blue would deepen into purple, 
while his eyes strained and started convulsively, . . . 

And yet Miss Tox, as it appeared, forgot him, — gradually forgot him. She 
began to forget him soon after her discovery of the Toodle family; she con- 
tinued to forget him up to the time of the christening; she went on forgetting 
him with compound interest after that. Something or somebody had super- 
seded him as a source of interest. 

" Good-morning, ma'am I " said the major, meeting Miss Toxin Princess's 
Place, some weeks after the changes chronicled in the last chapter. 

" Good-morning, sir," said Miss Tox very coldly. 

" Joe Bagstock, ma'am," observed the major with his usual gallantry, " has 
not had the happiness of bowing to you at your window for a considerable 
period. Joe has been hardly used, ma'am. His sun has been behind a 
cloud." 

Miss Tox inclined her head, but very coldly indeed. 

"Joe's luminary has been out of town, ma'am, perhaps," inquired the 
major. 

«' I out of town ? Oh, no I I have not been out of town," said Miss Tox. " I 
have been much engaged lately. My time is nearly all devoted to some very 
intimate friends. I am afraid I have none to spare even now. Good-morning, 
sir I " 

As Miss Tox, with her most fascinating step and carriage, disappeared 
from Princess's Place, the major stood looking after her with a bluer face 
than ever, muttering and growling some not at all complimentary remarks. 

" Why, damme, sir 1 " said the major, rolling his lobster-eyes round and round 
Princess's Place, and apostrophizing its fragrant air, " six months ago, the 
woman loved the ground Josh Bagstock walked on. What 's the meaning 
of it?" 

The major decided, after some consideration, that it meant man-traps; that 
it meant plotting and snaring ; that Miss Tox was digging pitfalls. " But you 
won't catch Joe, ma'am," said the major. " He's tough, ma'am ; tough is J. B., 
— tough and de-vilish sly I " Over which reflection he chuckled for the rest of 
the day. 

The major becomes a friend and companion of Mr. Dombey, in- 
troduces him to Edith Granger and Mrs. Skewton, and plays the 
agreeable to the mother, while Mr. Dombey makes love to the 
daughter. (Ch. vii, x, xx, xxi, xxvi, xxvii, xxxi, xxxvi, xl, li, 
lix, Ix.) 

Baps, Mr. Dancing-master at Doctor Blimber's ; a very grave 
gentleman with a slow and measured manner of speaking. 
(Ch. xiv.) 

Baps, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. xiv.) 

Berinthia, called Bebry. Niece and drudge to Mrs. Pipchin, 



260 2ri)e 33icftens Bfctionarg. 

whom she regards as one of the most meritorious persons in the 
world. She is a good-natured spinster of middle age, but possess- 
ing a gaunt and iron-bound aspect, and much afflicted with boils 
on her nose. (Ch. viii, xi.) 

Biler. See Toodle, Robin. 

Bitherston, Master. A child boarding at Mrs. Pipchin's ; a boy 
of mysterious and terrible experiences. (Ch. viii, x, xli, Ix.) 

Blimber, Doctor. Proprietor of an expensive private boarding- 
school for boys, at Brighton, to which Paul Dombey is sent to be 
educated. 

The doctor was a portly gentleman, in a suit of black, with strings at his 
knees, and stockings below them. He had a bald head highly polished, a deep 
voice, 9,nd a chin so very double that it was a wonder how he ever managed to 
shave into the creases. He had likewise a pair of little eyes that were always 
half shut up, and a mouth that was always half expanded into a grin, as if he 
had that moment posed a boy, and were waiting to convict him from his own 
lips. . . . The doctor's walk was stately, and calculated to impress the juvenile 
mind with solemn feelings. It was a sort of march; but, when the doctor put 
" out his right foot, he gravely turned upon his axis, with a semicircular sweep 
towards the left; and, when he put out his left foot, he turned in the same man- 
ner towards the right : so that he seemed, at every stride he took, to look about 
him, as though he were saying, " Can anybody have the goodness to indicate 
any subject, in any direction, on which I am uninformed? I rather think 
not." 

"Whenever a young gentleman was taken in hand by Doctor Blimber, he 
might consider himself sure of a pretty tight squeeze. The doctor only under- 
took the charge of ten young gentlemen ; but he had always ready a supply of 
learning for a hundred, on the lowest estimate; and it was at once the business 
and delight of his life to gorge the unhappy ten with it. 

In fact. Doctor Blimber's establishment was a great hot-house, in which 
there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. All the boys blew before 
their time. Mental green-peas were produced at Christmas, and intellectual 
asparagus all the year round. Mathematical gooseberries (very sour ones too) 
were common at untimely seasons, and from mere sprouts of bushes, under Doc- 
tor Blimber's cultivation. Every description of Greek and Latin vegetable was 
got off the dryest twigs of boys, under the frostiest circumstances. Nature was 
of no consequence at all. No matter what a young gentleman was Intended 
to bear, Doctor Blimber made him bear to pattern, somehow or other. 

(Ch. xi, xii, xix, xxiv, xli, Ix.) 
Blimber, Mrs. His wife. 

Mrs. Blimber, . . . was not learned herself; but she pretended to be: and 
that did quite as well. She said at evening parties, that, if she could have 
known Cicero, she thought she could have died contented. It was the steady 
joy of her life to see the doctor's young gentlemen go out walking, unlike al' 
other young gentlemen, in the largest possible shirt-collars and the stiffest pos« 
Bible cravats. It was so classical, she said. 

(Ch. xi, xii, xix, xxiv, xli, Ix.) 



©01111)02 atiti Son. 261 

Blimber. Miss Cornelia. The daughter; a slim and graceful 

and crisp, and wore spectacles. She was dry a { for Miss 

up like a ghoul. . . cf^A^^A 

Blookitt, Mrs. Mrs. Dombey's nurse ; a s.mpermg piece of faded 

Bo'C Mr's.'- A friend of Mrs. MacSUnger-s, and her hridesniaid 

on the occasion of her marriage to Jack Bunsby. (Ch. Ix ) 
BriggS A pupil of Doctor Blimber's, and the room-mate of Paul 

BrX'MfAtot'btk^rind appraiser, and Second-hand fur. 

niture-d'ealer ; a friend of Sol. Gills. (Ch. ix.) 

BrZnIiioe, alius Alice M.kwoop. A handsome woman of 

^ir'thty /ears of age; a former mistress of Jam- Carke. 

After suffering transportation for crime, 'l^^ -"^ ^^^/^ ^°t"f 

filled with scorn, hate, defiance, and recklessness. (Ch. xxxiu, 

xxxiT, xl, xlvi, Ui, lUi. 1™'-) „^„„ jiKS Brown. Hermother; 
■Rrovjn Mvs., callecKby herself) hoot) mns.aKuvi^ ' 

a Xy uTy o d woman, with red rims round her eyes, and a mouth 
that mumbled and chattered of itself when she was not speakmg. 
(Ch. vi, xxvii, xxxiv, -xl, xlvi. In, Ivm.) nutious 

Bunsby Captain Jack. Master of a vessel eaUed ' The Cautious 
CWa^ and a warm friend of Captain Cuttle, who looks t.p to him a 
an olle Fearin^ that the vessel on which her friend Walter Gay 
has ttkt passage'is lost, Florence Dombey, accompanied by her 
maid Susan Nipper, goes to Captain Cuttle for advice. Walter s 
Tie' So Gills, fs'ai;o%ery much distressed about his nephew ; and 
Z captain bdn-^ a friend of all parties, tries to re-assure them. 
Not beCie^equa. to the occasion, however, he fortunately 
bethinks himself of Jack Bunsby. 

.. With regard to old Sot GUIs," here the capt-n be«ame -le»°. -'>°,I ^^ 
stand hy, and not desert '^^^l'^li:X'::ZV^!i^c:X^,V^r.n. 

r;:;^°rthtr;n^jr^ex^-^^^^^^^^^^^ 

-prenticeshlp, and of which the "7;'^ B"-';*^; *f^. 7^, „ .^id Captain 
^rtt:':L^r-'l^ra:X'r;n'i r .^o^ea ., he. .atn . 



door I " 



262 SI)e JBfcftens ISictionarj. 

They accordingly go to see Captain Bunsby, and, under the pilot- 
age of Captain Cuttle, board " The Cautious Clara." 

Immediately there appeared, coming slowly up above the bulkhead of the cabin, 
another bulkhead, — human and very large, — with one stationary eye in the 
mahogany face, and one revolving one, on the principle of some lighthouses. 
This head was decorated with shaggy hair, like oakum, which had no governing 
inclination towards the north, east, west, or south, but inclined to all four quarters 
of the compass, and to every point upon it. The head was followed by a perfect 
desert of chin, and by a shirt-collar and neckerchief, and by a dread-nought pilot- 
coat, and by a pair of dread-nought pilot-trousers, whereof the waistband was 
so very broad and high, that it became a succedaneum for a waistcoat, being 
ornamented near the wearer's breastbone with some massive wooden buttons like 
backgammon-men. As the lower portions of these pantaloons became revealed, 
Bunsby stood confessed; his hands in their pockets (which were of vast size), 
and his gaze directed not to Captain Cuttle or the ladies, but the mast-head. 

. . . Whispering to Florence that Bunsby had never in his life expressed sur- 
prise, and was considered not to know what it meant, the captain watched him as 
he eyed his mast-head, and afterwards swept the horizon; and, when the revolving 
eye seemed to be coming round in his direction, said, — 

''Bunsby, my lad, how fares it?" 

A deep, gruff, husky utterance, which seemed to have no connection with 
Bunsby, and certainly had not the least effect upon his face, replied, " Ay, ay, 
shipmet, how goes it?" ^t the same time, Bunsby's right hand and arm, emer- 
ging from a pocket, shook the captain's, and went back again. 

" Bunsby," said the captain, striking home at once, "here you are, — a man of 
mind, and a man as can give an opinion. Here 's a young lady as wants to take 
that opinion in regard of my friend Wal'r ; likewise my t'other friend, Sol Gills, 
which is a character for you to come within hail of, being a man of science, 
which is the mother of inwention, and knows no law. Bunsby, will you ware, to 
oblige me, and come along with us ? " 

The great commander, who seemed by the expression of his visage to be always 
on the lookout for something in the extremest distance, and to have no ocular 
knowledge of any thing within ten miles, made no reply whatever. 

He finally consents to go with them, however, and at last delivers 

the following " opinion : " — 

" BIy name 's Jack Bunsby ! " 

" He was christened John," cried the delighted Captain Cuttle. " Hear him I " 

" And what I says," pursued the voice, after some deliberation, " I stands to.'' 

The captain, with Florence on his arm, nodded at the auditory, and seemed to 
say, " Now he 's coming out ! This is what I meant when I brought him." 

" Whereby," proceeded the voice, " why not ? If so, what odds ? Can any man 
say otherwise ? No. Awast then I " 

When it had pursued its train of argument to this point, the voice stopped 
and rested. It then proceeded very slowly, thus : — 

" Do I believe this here Son and Heir 's gone down, my lads ? Mayhap. Do I 
gay so ? Which ? If a skipper stands out by Sen' George's Channel, making for 
the Downs, what 's right ahead of him ? The Goodwins. He is n't forced to run 
upon the Goodwins ; but he may. The bearings of this observation lays in the 
application on it. That a'n't no part of my duty. Awast then, keep a brigh* 
.ookout for'ard, and good luck to you I " 



IBombes anXi Son. 263 



. f nf fhP back-parlor and into the street, taking the 
The voice here went out of the t)acK pario nyinghim on board 

is finally captured and married, perforce, by h.3 landlady, 
cS^nSieT's- 3"inand Ja.es Car.er, afterwards 
^^twk of Mr. Morfin. (Ch. xxii, xxxiii, xxx.v, In,, Ixu.) 
Carklr. James. Mr. Dombey's bead clerk or manager. 

Mr. career was a gentleman tMHy-gM or forty ye- ^^■;^;l^l'^,;Z, 

p,exlon, ana with '- -fX'°;':LCoS^^^^^^^^^^^ the 'observation 
Whiteness were quite distressing, it wu y ^ ^^.^^ ^^^^ 

of them;forheshowedthemwhen^^^^^^^^^ ,^^,^, ,^3 

his countenance (a smile, ^o^^^7^''/?,^=^f the .narl of a cat. He affected a 
xnouth),that there was ^^^-^t^-^;:^^! f^ ^^i^^^^^^^^ was always closely 

stiff white cravat after th-^-P^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Mr. Bombey was deeply 

buttoned up and t^g^tl^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^ He was familiar with him in the very ex- 

conceived, and perfectly expressea. ^ ,, Dombey, to a man in 

tremity of his sense of tl^^<^-^-f ^^^^^^ fno s.'w of subLvienc'e compatible 
your position, from a man m mine '^^H''^'''^^^^ .j^^^ld think sufficient. I 
^ith the transaction of bus ness Ijetween us that I ho ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ 

patny m , secretly takes advantage of the confidence 

,„g d.spos.t^n , and be se«et y _^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ ^^ 

Z:^^^^.l^^^^^^r., wife. Goaded - desperation by tbe 
conduct of Mr. Dombey in making bis clerk tbe medium of com- 
rntakg bis directions to J^-, but equally despi.n.o^^^^^^ 
,r<A master Mrs. Dombey revenges herself on her husbana oy 
r„pinT:SS his clerk, J on the clerk by taunting h.m wuh h. 

:„pU<1 -tory, and leaving him l^^^^tZl^^^^'^ 
r^o+or^ +rinTnT)h to tlie vengeance of her husbana, wno ucl^ i 
them In t?Sng to avoid Mr. Dombey, whom he accidentally en- 
ters at7raLay-station, he staggers, shps on to the^-k^and 
is killed by a passing train. (Ch. xn. -»'.'-"'..^";'' '"""• 
xxxi, xxxiii, xxxvi, xxxvii, xl, xlU, xlv, xlv., xlvn, h.-lv.) 



264 ®^l)e 3Bfcfeens Bfctfonats. 

Carker, Mr. John, Brother of James and Harriet Carker, and 
under-clerk at Dombey and Son's. When a young man, he had 
been led astray by evil companions, and had robbed his employers, 
who had reposed great confidence in him. His guilt was soon dis- 
covered ; but the house was merciful, and, instead of dismissing him, 
retained him in a subordinate capacity, in which he made expia- 
tion for his crime by long years of patient, faithful service. After 
the elopement of his brother James with Edith Dombey, he is dis- 
charged ; but, by the sudden death of his brother, he comes into 
possession of a fortune, the interest of which, when Mr. Dombey 
becomes a bankrupt, he secretly makes over to him year by year as 
if it were the repayment of an old lost debt. (Ch. vi, xix, xxii, 
xxxiii, xxxiv, Hii, Iviii, Ixii.) 

Chick, Mr. John. Brother-in-law to Mr. Dombey ; a stout, bald 
gentleman with a very large face, and his hands continually in his 
pockets, and with a tendency to whistle and hum tunes on every 
sort of occasion. (Ch. ii, v, xxix, xxxvi.) 

Chick, Mrs. Louisa. His wife ; sister to Mr. Dombey ; a weak, 
good-natured, self-satisfied woman, very proud of her family and 
of having always tried, as she puts it, to " make an eiSbrt." (Ch. i, 
ii, v-viii, x, xviii, xxix, xxxvi, li, lix.) 

Chicken, The Game. See Game CnicKEN, The. 

Chowley. See Mac Stinger, Charles. 

Clark, Mr. A clerk of Mr. Dombey's. (Ch. vi.) 

Cleopatra. See Skewtox, Mrs. 

Cuttle, Captain Edward. Protector of Florence Dombey, friend 

of Walter Gay, and friend ^d afterwards partner of Walter's 

uncle, Sol Gills. His first advent in the story is at the house of 

the latter at dinner-time. 

An addition to the little party now made its appearance in the shape of a 
gentleman in a wide suit of blue, with a hook instead of a hand attached to his 
right wrist, very bushy black eyebrows, and a thick stick in his left hand, 
covered all over (like his nose) witli knobs. He wore a loose black silk hand- 
kerchief round his neck, and such a very large coarse shirt-collar, that it looked 
like a small sail. He was evidently the person for whom the spare wineglass 
was intended, and evidently knew it; for having taken off his rough outer coat, 
and hung up on a particular peg behind the door such a hard glazed hat as a 
sympathetic person's head might ache at the sight of, and which left a red rim 
round his own forehead, as if he had been wearing a tight basin, he brought a 
chair to where the clean glass was, and sat himself down behind it. He was 
usually addressed as captain, this visitor; and had been a pilot, or a skipper, 
or a privateersman, or all three, perhaps ; and was a very salt-looking man in- 
deed. 




CAPTAIN CUTTT.F. 



JBombes anti Son. 265 

His face, remarkable for a brown solidity, brightened as he shook hani\3 with 
nncle and nephew ; but he seemed to be of a laconic disposition, and merely said, — 

'< How goes it ? " 

" All well," said Mr. Gills, pushing the bottle towards him. 

He took it up, and, having surveyed and smelt it, said with extraordinary 
expression, — 

" Thel" 

*' The," returned the instrument-maker. 

Upon that he whistled as he filled his glass, and seemed to think they were 
making holiday indeed. 

" Wal'r 1 " he said, arranging his hair (which was thin) with his hook, and then 
pointing it at the instrument-maker, " Look at him ! Love ! Honor I And Obey I 
Overhaul your catechism till you find that passage, and when found turn the leaf 
down. Success, my boy I " 

He was so perfectly satisfied both with his quotation and his reference to it, 
that he could not help repeating the words again in a low voice, and saying he had 
forgotten 'em these forty year. 

" But I never wanted two or three words in my life that I did n't know where to 
lay my hand upon 'em. Gills," he observed. " It comes of not wasting language 
as some do." 

The reflection, perhaps, reminded him that he had better, like young Norval's 
father, " increase his store." At any rate, he became silent. 

Walter having been selected by his employer to fill a junior situa- 
tion in the counting-house at Barbadoes, a meeting of a few friends 
takes place at his uncle's, at which Captain Cuttle is present. 

" "Wal'r," said the captain, when they took their seats at table, " if your uncle 's 
the man I think him, he '11 bring out the last bottle of the Madeira on the present 
occasion." 

" No, no, Ned I " returned the old man. " No I That shall be opened when 
"Walter comes home again." 

" Well said I " cried the captain. " Hear him I " 

" There it lies," said Sol Gills, '• down in the little cellar, covered with dirt and 
cobwebs. There may be dirt and cobwebs over you and me, perhaps, Ned, before 
\t sees the light." 

" Hear him ! " cried the captain. " Good morality I "Wal'r, my lad. Train up 
a fig-tree in the way it should go, and when you are old sit under the shade on it. 
Overhaul the — Well," said the captain, on second thoughts " I an't quite certain 
where that's to be found; but, when found, make a note of. Sol Gills, heave 
ahead again 1 " 

Old Sol and the captain accompany the lad on board the ship to 
see him ofi*, the former with moist eyes, the latter with a very grave 
face. 

The captain . . . drew "Walter into a corner, and, vnth a great eflFort that made 
his face very red, pulled up the silver watch, which was so big, and so tight in his 
pocket, that it came out like a bung. 

" Wal'r," said the captain, handing it over, and shaking him heartily by the 
hand, " a parting gift, my lad. Put it back a half an hour every morning, and 
»bout a quarter towards the arternoon, and it 's a watch that '11 do you credit." 
23 



266 2C!)e Bfcfeens Bfctionatg. 

(Ch. iv, ix, X, XV, xvii, xix, xxiii, xxv, xxxii, xxxix, xlviii-1, Ivi, 
Ivii, Ix, Ixii.) See Mac Stinger, Mrs. See p. 544. 

Da'ws, Mary. A young kitclien-maid in Mr. Dombey's service. 
(Ch. lix.) 

Diogenes. A dog given by Mr. Toots to Florence Dombey, " as a 

sort of keepsake," he having been a favorite with her brother, little 

Paul. (Ch. xiv, xviii, xxii, xxiii, xxviii, xxx, xxxi, xxxv, xli, xliv, 

xlviii, xlix, 1, Ivi, Ixii.) 

Though Diogenes was as ridiculous a dog as one would meet with on a sum- 
mer's day, — a blundering, ill-favored, clumsy, bullet-headed dog, continually act- 
ing on a wrong idea that there was an enemy in the neighborhood whom it was 
meritorious to bark at, — and though he was far from good-tempered, and cer- 
tainly was not clever, and had hair all over his eyes, and a comic nose, and an 
inconsistent tail, and a gruff voice, he was dearer to Florence . . . than the 
most beautiful of his kind. 

Dombey, Mrs. Edith. Mr. Dombey's second wife ; daughter of 
Mrs. Skewton, and widow of Colonel Granger. She is a woman 
under thirty, very handso me, ter^JjajUghty, and ver^wilful ; pure at 
heart, but defiant of criticism. Though she feels neither love nor 
esteem for Mr. Dombey, and does not tempt him to seek her hand, 
yet she suffers him to marry her, content to be made rich so long as 
the transaction is understood to be a mere matter of traffic, in which 
beauty, grace, and varied accomplishments are exchanged for wealth 
and social position. As might be expected, the alliance proves to be 
a very unfortunate one. No friendship, no fitness for each other, no 
mutual forbearance, springs up between the unhappy pair : but in- 
difference gives place to aversion and contempt ; arrogance is repaid 
in kind ; opposition arouses opposition. At last, Edith elopes with 
Mr. Carker, a confidential clerk of Mr. Dombey's ; and this she does 
with the double motive of revengino; herself on her husband, and 
of befooling and punishing the clerk, who has pursued her from 
her wedding-day with humiliating solicitations and the meanest 
stratagems. But she leaves him in the very hour of their meeting, 
and he is killed by a passing train in trying to escape pursuit. 
(Ch. xxi, xxvi-xxviii, xxx, xxxi, xxxv-xxxvii, xl-xliii, xlv, xlvii, 
liv, Ixi.) See Skewton, Mrs. 

Dombey, Mrs. Fanny. Mr. Dombey's first wife ; mother of 
Florence and of little Paul. (Ch. i.) See Dombey, Little 
Paul. 

Dombey, Florence. Daughter of Mr. Dombey, and sister of 
little Paul. She is a loving and lovable child, but, not having had 



3Doini)02 anli .Son, 267 

the good fortune to be born a boy, is of no account in her father's 
eyes. At first she is merely an object of indifference to him, but 
by degrees he comes to conceive a positive dislike for her, and at 
last drives her from his house. She finally marries Walter Gay, a 
junior clerk in Mr. Dombey's bank. (Cli. i, iii, v, vi, viii-xii, xiv, 
xvi, xviii, xix, xxii-xxiv, xxviii, xxx, xxxv-xxxvii, xl, xli, xliii-xlv, 
xlvii-1, Ivi, Ivii, lix, Ixi, Ixii.) See Dombey (Mr.), and Dombey 
(Little Paul). 
Dombey, Little Paul. Mr. Dombey's son and heir. His advent 
into the world is thus described ; — 

Rich Mr. Dombey sat in the corner of his wife's darkened bed-chamber, in the 
great arm-chair by the bedside ; and rich Mr. Dombey's son lay tucked up warm 
in a little basket carefully placed on a low settee in front of the fire, and cloce 
to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin, and it was essen- 
tial to toast him brown while he was very new. 

Rich Mr. Dombey was about eight and forty years of age ; rich Mr. Dombey's 
son, about eight and forty minutes. Mr. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, 
and rather stern and pompous; Mr. Dombey's son was very bald, and very red, 
and rather crushed and spotty in his general effect, as yet. 

Mr. Dombey, exulting in the long-looked-for event, — the birth of a son, — 
jingled his heavy gold watch-chain as he sat in his blue coat and bright buttons 
by the side of the bed, and said, — 

"Our house of business will once again be not only in name, but in fact, Dom- 
bey and Son; Dombey and Son I He will be christened Paul, of course, — his 
father's name, 3Irs. Dombey, and his grandfather's. I wish his grandfather 
were alive this day I " And again he said, " Dom-bey and Son I " 

Those three words conveyed the one idea of Mr. Dombey's life. The earth 
was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and moon were made to 
give them light. Common abbreviations took new meanings in his eyes, and 
had sole reference to them. A. D. had no concern with Anno Domini, but stood 
for Anno Dombei — and Son. 

He had been married ten years, and, until this present day on which he sat 
jingling hia gold watch-chain in the great arm-chair by the side of the bed, had 
had no issue. 

— To speak of. There had been a girl some six years before ; and she, who 
had stolen into the chamber unobserved, was now crouching in a corner whence 
she could see her mother's face. But what was a girl to Dombey and Son ! 

Mr. Dombey's cup of satisfaction was so full, however, that he said, '' Flor- 
ence, you may go and look at your pretty brother, if you like. Don't touch 
him I " 

Little Paul's mother dies in giving him birth, and he himself is 
but a weakling. 

In his steeple-chase towards manhood, he found it very rough riding. Every 
tooth was a break-neck fence, and every pimple in the measles a stone wall, to 
him. He was down in every fit of the whooping-cough. Some bird of prey got 
into his throat, instead of the thrush; and the very chickens, turning ferocious, 
— if they have any thing to do with that infant malady to which they lend their 
name, — worried him like tiger-cats. 



268 2ri)e Bfcltens 2IBfcifonats. 

He grew to be nearly five years old, — a pretty little fellow, but with something 
wan and wistful in his small face, that gave occasion to many significant shakes 
of his nurse's head. She said he was too old-fashioned. 

He was childish and sportive enough at times ; but he had a strange, weird, 
thoughtful way, at other times, of sitting brooding in his miniature arm-chair, 
when he looked (and talked) like one of those terrible little beings in the fairy- 
tales, who, at a hundred and fifty or two hundred years of age, fantastically repre- 
sent the children for whom they have been substituted. 

Mr. Dombey becomes uneasy about tliis odd boy, and sends him to 
Brighton to board with an old lady named Pipchin, who has acquired 
an immense reputation as a manager of children. But little Paul 
grows more old-fashioned than ever, without growing any stronger ; 
and his father, bent on his learning every thing, and being brought 
forward rapidly, resolves to make a change, and accordingly enrols 
him as a student in Dr. Blimber's educational establishment, which 
is conducted on the hot-house, or forcing, principle. His health con- 
tinues to fail, however, and at last he is taken home to die. 

Little Dombey had never risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to 
the noises in the street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, 
but watching it, and watching everything. 

When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quiv- 
ered on the opposite wall, like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, 
and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom 
went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen, into night. Then 
he thought how the long unseen streets were dotted with lamps, and how the 
peaceful stars were shining overhead. His fancy had a strange tendency to wan- 
der to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city ; and now he 
thought how black it was, and how deep it would look reflecting the hosts of stars, 
and, more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea. 

As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare, that he 
could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow 
distance, he would lie and watch the many-colored ring about the candle, and wait 
patiently for day. His only trouble was the swift and rapid river. He felt forced, 
sometimes, to try to stop it, — to stem it with his childish hands, or choke its way 
with sand; and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he cried out. But a word 
from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and, leaning 
his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his dream, and smiled. 

When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun ; and, when its cheerful 
light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself — pictured I he saw — 
the high church-towers rising up into the morning sky, the town reviving, waking, 
starting into life once more, the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as 
ever), and the country bright with dew. Familiar sounds and cries came by de- 
grees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces 
looked in at the door ; and voices asked his attendants softly how he was. Paul 
always answered for himself, " I am better, —I am a great deal better, thank you ! 
Tell papa so." 

By little and little, he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of carriages 
and carta and people passing and repassing, and would Ml asleep, or be troubled 



momhts anU Son. 269 

with a restless and uneasy sense again. " Why, will it never stop, Floy ? " he 
would sometimes ask her. " It is bearing me away, I think." 

But she could always soothe and re-assure him ; and it was his daily delight to 
make her lay her head down on his pillow, and take some rest. 

" You are always watching me, Floy; let me watch you now I " 

They would prop him up with cushions in a corner of his bed, and there he 
would recline the while she lay beside him, bending forward oftentimes to kiss her, 
and whispering to those who were near, that she was tired, and how she had sat 
up so many nights beside him. 

Thus the flush of the day, in its heat and light, would gradually decline; and 
again the golden water would be dancing on the wall. 

The people round him changed unaccountably ; and what had been the doctor 
would be his father, sitting with his head leaning on his hand. This figure, with 
its head leaning on its hand, returned so often, and remained so long, and sat so 
still and solemn, never speaking, never being spoken to, and rarely lifting up its 
face, that Paul began to wonder languidly if it were real. 

" Floy, what is that ? " 

*' Where, dearest ? " 

" There, at the bottom of the bed." 

" There 's nothing there except papa." 

The figure lifted up its head and rose, and, coming to the bedside, said, — 

" My own boy I don't you know me ? " 

Paul looked it in the face. Before he could reach out both his hands to take it 
between them, and draw it towards him, the figure turned away quickly from the 
little bed, and went out at the door. 

The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he called 
to it. 

" Don't be so sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I am quite happy I " 

His father coming and bending down to him, he held him round the neck, and 
repeated those words to him several times, and very earnestly; and he never saw 
his father in his room again at any time, whether it were day or night, but he 
called out, " Don't be so sorry for me I Indeed, I am quite happy 1 " This was the 
beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a great deal better, and 
that they were to tell his father so. 

How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights the 
dark river rolled towards the sea in spite of him, Paul never sought to know. If 
their kindness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and 
he more grateful, every day; but»whether there were many days or few appeared 
of little moment now to the gentle boy. 

One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the drawing- 
room down stairs. The train of thought suggested to htm to inquire if he had 
ever seen his mother ; for he could not remember whether they had told him yes 
or no ; the river running very fast, and confusing his mind. 

" Floy, did I ever see mamma ? " 

"No, darling: why?" 

" Did I never see any kind face, like a mamma's, looking at me when I was 
» baby, Floy ? " 

"Oh, yes, dear I" 

"Whose, Floy?" 

" Your old nurse's. Often." 

" And where is my old nurse ? Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please. 

** She is not here, darling. She shall come to-morrow." 
23* 



270 S!)e Bfcfeens ISfctfonars. 

" Thank you, Floy I " 

Little Dombey closed his eyes with those words, and fell asleep. When he 
awoke, the sun was high, and the broad day was clear and warm. Then he 
awoke, — woke mind and body, — and sat upright in his bed. He saw them now 
about him. There was no gray mist before them, as there had been sometimes 
in the night. He knew them every one, and called them by their names. 

" And who is this ? Is this my old nurse ? " asked the child, regarding with 
a radiant smile a figure coming in. 

Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of him, 
and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted child. No 
other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted 
hand, and put it to her lips and breast as one who had some right to fondle it. 
No other woman would have so forgotten everybody there but him and Floy, 
and been so full of tenderness and pity. 

" Floy, this is a kind, good face I I am glad to see it again. Don't go away, 
old nurse. Stay here I Good-by I " 

" Good-by, my child ? " cried Mrs. Pipchin, hurrying to his bed's head. " Not 
good-by ? " 

" Ah, yes ! Good-by ! — "Where is papa ? " 

His father's breath was on his cheek before the words had parted from his 
lips. The feeble hand waved in the air, as if it cried, " Good-by 1 " again. 

" Now lay me down; and, Floy, come close to me, and let me see you." 

Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light 
came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together. 

'* How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy I 
But it 's very near the sea now. I liear the waves ! They always said so I " 

Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was lull- 
ing him to rest. Now the boat was out at sea; and now there was a shore 
before him. Who stood on the bank ? 

He put his hands together as he had been used to do at his prayers. He 
did not remove his arms to do it ; but they saw him fold them so behind his sis- 
ter's neck. 

" Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face I But tell them that the 
picture on the stairs at school is not divine enough. The light about the head 
is shining on me as I go." 

The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in 
the room. The old, old, fashion I — the fashion that came in with our first gar- 
ments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide 
firmament is rolled up like a scroll; the old, old fashion, — Death I 

Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet of Immortality ! 
And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, 
when the swift river bears us to the ocean I 

(Ch. i-iii, v-viii, x-xii, xiv, xvi.) 

Dombey, Mr. Paul. A London merchant, very wealthy, very 
starched and pompous, intensely obstinate, and possessed by a 
conviction that the old banking-house of Dombey and Son is the 
central fact of the universe. He has a daughter Florence, who is 
of no consequence in his eyes ; and a son Paul, on whom all his 
hopes and affections centre, but who dies in childhood. He mar- 



IDombe^ anti Son. 271 

ries for his second wife a woman whose pride is eqpial to his own, 
and who not only has no love to give him, but refuses to render 
him the deference and submission which he exacts as his due. 
Goaded to desperation, at last, by his arrogance, and by the slights 
and affronts he puts upon her, she elopes, upon the anniversary of 
her marriage, with a confidential clerk whom he had chosen as an 
instrument of her humiliation, content to wear the appearance of 
an adulteress (though not such in reality), if she can only avenge 
herself upon her husband. But Mr. Dombey, though keenly sensi- 
tive to the disgrace she has inflicted upon him, and haunted by the 
dread of public ridicule, abates no jot of his pride or obstinacy. 
He drives his daughter from his house, believing her to be an ac- 
complice of his wife, forbids the name of either to be mentioned i: 
his presence, and preserves the same calm, cold, impenetrable 
exterior as ever. His trouble preys upon his mind, however ; his 
prudence in matters of business deserts him ; and the great house 
of which he is the head soon goes down in utter bankruptcy. But 
this crowning retribution proves a blessing after all ; for it under- 
mines his pride, melts his obstinacy, and sets his injustice plainly 
before him. His daughter seeks him out, and in her home he 
passes the evening of his days, a wiser and a better man. (Ch. i- 
iii, V, vi, viii, x, xi, xiii, xvi, xviii, xx, xxi, xxvi-xxviii, xxx, xxxi, 
XXXV, xxxvi, xl-xliv, xlvii, li. Hi, Iv, Iviii, lix, Ixi, Ixii.) See 
Dombey, Little Paul. See also p. 544. 

Feeder, Reverend Alfred, M. A. A brother of Mr. Feeder, 
B. A. (Ch. Ix.) 

Feeder, Mr., B. A. An assistant in the establishment of Blim- 
ber ; afterwards his son-in-law and successor. (Ch. xi, xii, xiv, xli, 
Ix.) 

Feenix, Cousin. A superannuated nobleman, nephew to the Hon- 
orable Mrs. Skewton, and cousin to Edith Dombey. (Ch. xxxi, 
xxxvi, xli, li, Ixi.) 

Cousin Feenix was a man about town forty years ago; but he is still so juve- 
nile In figure and manner, and so well got up, that strangers are amazed when 
they discover latent wrinkles in his lordship's face, and crow's-feet in his eyes, 
and first observe him not exactly certain, when he walks across a room, of 
going quite straight to where he wants to go. But Cousin Feenix getting up 
at half-past seven o'clock, or so, is quite another thing from Cousin Feenix got 
up ; and very dim indeed he looks while being shaved at Long's Hotel, in Bond 
Street. 

Flowers. Mrs. Sk^wton's maid. (Ch. xxvii, xxx, xxxv-xxxvii 

xl.) 



272 S^!)e ©icftens Bictfonars. 

Game Chicken, The. A professional boxer and prize-fighter, 
■with very short hair, a broken nose, and a considerable tract of 
bare and sterile country behind each ear. He is a friend of Mr. 
Toots, whom he knocks about the head three times a week for 
the small consideration of ten and six per visit. (Ch. xxii, xxviii, 
xxxii, xli, xliv, Ivi.) 

Gay, Walter. A young man in the employ of Mr. Dombey; 
nephew to Sol Gills. He makes the acquaintance of Florence 
Dombey, and falls in love with her, but is soon afterward sent to 
Barbadoes to fill a junior situation in the counting-house there. 
The ship in which he sails is lost at sea, and it is long thought 
that he went down with her ; but he finally returns, and marries 
Florence. (Ch. iv, vi, ix, x, xiii, xv-xvii, xix, xlix, 1, Ivi, Ivii, Ixi, 
Ixii.) See Cuttle, Captain Edward. 

Gills, Solomon. A nautical instrument-maker ; uncle to Walter 
Gay. When he hears of the loss of the ship in which his nephew 
has sailed, he goes abroad in quest of him, leaving his shop in 
the hands of Captain Cuttle. (Ch. iv, vi, ix, x, xv, xvii, xlx, xxii, 
xxiii, xxv, Ivi, Ivii, Ixii.) See p. 544. 

To say nothing of his "Welsh wig, which was as plain and stubborn a Welsh 
wig as ever was worn, and in which he looked like any thing but a rover, he 
was a slow, quiet-spoken, thoughtful old fellow, with eyes as red as if they had 
been small suns looking at you through a fog ; and a newly-awakened manner, 
such as he might have acquired by having stared for three or four days succes- 
sively through every optical instrument in his shop, and suddenly come back to 
the world again to find it green. 

Glubb, Old. An old man employed to draw little Paul Dom- 
bey 's couch. (Ch. xii.) 

Granger, Mrs. Edith, See Dombey, Mrs. Edith. 

Howler, The Reverend Melchisedech. A minister "of the 
ranting persuasion," who predicts the speedy destruction of the 
world. He was formerly employed in the West India Docks, but 
was " discharged on suspicion of screwing gimlets into puncheons, 
and applying his lips to the orifice." (Ch. xv, Ix.) 

Jemima. Mrs. Toodle's unmarried sister, who lives with her, and 
helps her take care of the children. (Ch. ii, vi.) 

Joe. A laborer. (Ch. vi.) 

John. A poor man with no regular employment ; father of Martha, 
a deformed and sickly girl. (Ch. xxiv.) See Martha. 

Johnson. A pupil of Doctor Blimber's. (Ch. xii, xiv.) 

Kate. An orphan-child, visiting Sir Barnet and Lady Skettles, at 



SBombeg aitti Son. 273 

Fulham, with her aunt, during Florence Dombey's stay there. 
(Ch. XXV.) 

MacStinger, Alexander. Son of Mrs. MacStinger, aged two 
years and three months. His mother never enters upon any action 
of importance, without previously inverting him to bring him within 
range of a brisk battery of slaps, and then setting him down on 
the street pavement ; a cool paving-stone being usually found to act 
as a powerful restorative. (Ch. xxiii, xxv, xxix, Ix.) 

MacStinger, Charles, called Chowley by his playmates. An- 
other son of Mrs. MacStinger. (Ch. xxxix, Ix.) 

MacStinger, Juliana. Mrs. Mac Stinger's daughter; the very 
picture of he. motner. " Another year or two, the captain " [Cap- 
tain Cuttle] " thought, and to lodge where that child was would be 
destruction." (Ch. xxv, xxix, Ix.) 

MacStinger, Mrs. Captain Cuttle's landlady ; a vixenish widow- 
woman, living at No. 9 Brig Place, near the India Docks. She 
exhibits a disposition to retain her lodgers by physical force, if 
necessary. The captain stands in mortal fear of her ; though, as 
he says, he " never owed her a penny," and has " done her a 
world of good turns too." Circumstances, however, occur, that 
make it absoldtely necessary for him to remove to another part of 
the city ; and, as he dare not acquaint her with the fact, he resorts 
to stratagem to effect his purpose. 

In the silence of night, the captain packed up his heavier property in a 
chest, which he locked, intending to leave it there, in all probability for ever, 
but on the forlorn chance of one day finding a man sufficiently bold and desper- 
ate to come and ask for it. Of his lighter necessaries the captain made a bun- 
dle, and disposed his plate about his person, ready for flight. At the hour of 
midnight, when Brig Place was buried in slumber, and Mrs. MacStinger was 
lulled in sweet oblivion, with her infants around her, the guilty captain, steal- 
ing down on tiptoe, in the dark, opened the door, closed it softly after him, 
and took to his heels. 

Pursued by the image of Mrs. MacStinger springing out of bed, and, regard- 
less of costume, following and bringing him back, pursued also by a conscious- 
ness of his enormous crime. Captain Cuttle held on at a great pace, and allowed 
no grass to grow under his feet between Brig Place and the instrument-maker's 
door. It opened when he knocked (for Rob was on the watch) ; and, when it 
was bolted and locked behind him, Captain Cuttle felt comparatively safe. 

" TVhew 1 " cried the captain, looking round him, '• it 's a breather I " 

" Nothing the matter; is there, captain ? " cried the gaping Rob. 

" No, no ! " said Captain Cuttle, after changing color, and listening to a pass- 
ing footstep in the street. "But mind ye, my lad, if any lady, except either 
of them two as you see t'other day, ever comes and asks for Cap'en Cuttle, be 
sure to report no person of that name known, nor never heard of here. Observe - 
them orders ; will you ? " 



274 CtJe Sicfecns BictfoRats. 

" I '11 take care, captain," returned Rob. 

"You might say, if you liked," hesitated the captain, "that you 'd read in the 
paper, that a cap'en of that name was gone to Australia, emigrating along with 
a whole ship's complement of people as had all swore never to come back no 
more." 

The brave old salt takes great precautions against discovery and 
recapture ; but Mrs. Mac Stinger finds him out at last, and descends 
upon him while he is engaged in a consultation with his friend Jack 
Bunsby. The captain tries to effect his escape, but in vain ; for he is 
stopped by the Httle Mac Stingers, who cling to his legs with loud 
screams of recognition. 

'* O Cap'en Cuttle, Cap'en Cuttle ! " said Mrs. MacStinger, making her chin 
rigid, and shaking it in unison with what, but for the weakness of her sex, might 
be described as her fist,— "O Cap'en Cuttle, Cap'en Cuttle I do you dare to look 
me in the face, and not be struck down in the berth ? " 

The captain, who looked any thing but daring, feebly muttered, " Stand by I " 

" Oh I I was a weak and trusting fool when I took you under my roof, Cap'en 
Cuttle,— I was 1 " cried Mrs. MacStinger. " To think of the benefits I 've showered 
on that man, and the way in which I brought my children up to love and honor 
him as if he was a father to 'em ; when there an't a 'ousekeeper, no nor a lodger, 
in our street, don't know that I lost money by that man, and by his guzzlings and 
his muzzlings" (Mrs. MacStinger used the last word for the joint sake of allitera* 
tion and aggravation, rather than for the expression of any idea) ; " and when they 
cried out one and all, shame upon him for putting upon an industrious woman, up 
early and late for the good of her young family, and keeping her poor place so 
clean, that a individual might have ate his dinner, yes, and his tea too, if he was 
so disposed, off any one of the floors or stairs, in spite of all his guzzlings and 
his muzzlings, such was the care and pains bestowed upon him I " 

Mrs. MacStinger stopped to fetch her breath; and her face flushed with tri- 
umph in this second happy introduction of Captain Cuttle's muzzlings. 

"And he runs awa-a-a-ayl" cried Mrs. MacStinger, with a lengthening-out of 
the last syllable that made the unfortunate captain regard himself as the meanest 
of men, "and keeps away a twelvemonth I From a woman! Sitch is his con- 
science 1 He has n't the courage to meet her hi-i-i-igh \^ (long syllable again), 
" but steals away like a felion. ... A pretty sort of a man is Cap'en Cuttle," said 
Mrs. MacStinger, with a sharp stress on the first syllable of the captain's name, 
" to take on for, and to lose sleep for, and to faint along of, and to think dead, for- 
sooth, and to go up and down the blessed town like a mad woman, asking ques- 
tions after! Oh, a pretty sort of a man! Ha, ha, ha, ha! He 's worth all that 
trouble and distress of mind, and much more. That '$ nothing, bless you I ITa, 
ha, ha, ha I Cap'en Cuttle," said Mrs. MacStinger, with severe re-ection in her 
voice and manner, " I wish to know if you 're a-coming home." 

The frightened captain looked into his hat, as if be saw nothing for it but to 
put it on, and give himself up. 

"Cap'en Cuttle," repeated Mrs. MacStinger in the same determined manner, 
" I wish to know if you 're a-coming home, sir." 

The captain seemed quite ready to go, but faintly suggested something to the 
effect of " not making so much noise about it." 

The gallant captain is relieved, however, by Bunsby, who diverts 



laombeg anU Son. 275 

the widow's attention from his friend, and soothes and softens her 
by a little delicate flattery, and by offering to " conwoy " her home, 
which he does, returning, after some hours, with the captain's chest, 
which is held to imply a relinquishment of any further claims upon 
the owner by his late landlady. Mrs. Mac Stinger subsequently 
marries Captain Bunsby. (Ch. ix, xvii, xxiii, xxv, xxxix, Ivi, Ix.) 
Martha. The daughter of a poor laboring-man, who finds it very 
difficult to get work to do. She is ugly, misshapen, peevish, ill-con- 
ditioned, ragged, and dirty, but dearly loved by her father, who 
robs himself, and makes his own life miserable, to add to her com- 
fort. (Ch. xxiv.) See John. 
Marwood, Alice. See Brown, Alice. 

*Melia. A servant-girl at Doctor Blimber's. (Ch. xii, xiv, xH.) 
Miff, Mrs. A wheezy little pew-opener ; a mighty dry old lady, 
with a vinegary face, an air of mystery, and a thirsty soul for six- 
pences and shillings. (Ch. xxxi, Ivii.) 
Morfin, Mr. Head clerk at Dombey and Son's ; a cheerful-looking, 
hazel-eyed, elderly bachelor, who befriends John Carker, and 
marries his sister Harriet. (Ch. xiii, xxxiii, liii, Iviii, Ixii.) 
Native, The. A dark servant of Major Bagstock's, so called by 
Miss Tox, though without connecting him with any geographical 
idea whatever. He has no particular name, but answers to any 
vituperative epithet. (Ch. vii, x, xx, xxi, xxvi, xxvii, xxix, Iviii, 
lix.) 
Nipper, Susan. Florence Dombey's maid; a short, brown, 
womanly girl, with a little snub nose, and black eyes like jet beads. 
Notwithstanding a peculiarly sharp and biting manner that she has, 
she is, in the main, a good-natured little body, and is wholly devoted 
to her mistress. She has the audacity to tell Mr. Dombey what 
she thinks of his treatment of his daughter, and is immediately 
discharged from that gentleman's service. She afterwards marries 
Mr. Toots, who considers her "a most extraordinary woman." 
(Ch. ill, V, vi, xiii, xv, xvi, xviii, xix, xxii, xxiii, xxviii, xxxii, xliii, 
xliv, Ivi, Ivii, Ix-lxii.) See Toots, Mr. P. 
Pankey, Miss. A boarder at Mrs. Pipchin's « select infantine 
boarding-house," worth " a good eighty pounds a year " to her. 
(Ch. viii, xi.) 
Paul, Little. See Dombey, Little Paul. 
Peps, Doctor Parker. One of the court physicians, and a man 
of immense reputation for assisting at the increase of great families. 



276 S^N 29fcfeens 23fctiona»:^, 

on M hich account his services are secured by Mr. Dombey when 

little Paul is bom. (Ch. i, xvi.) 
Perch, Mr. Messenger in Mr. Dombey's office, living (when at 

home) at Balls Pond. (Ch. xiii, xvii, xxii, xxiv, xxxi, xlvi, li, Uii, 

Iviii, lix.) See p. 544. 
Perch, Mrs. His wife, always in an interesting condition. (Ch. 

xiii, xxii, xxxi, xxxv, li, liii, Iviii, lix.) 
Pilkins, Mr. Mr. Dombey's family physician. (Ch. i, viii.) 
Pipchin, Mrs. An old lady living at Brighton, with whom little 

Paul Dombey, accompanied by his sister Florence and a nurse, is 

sent to board. She afterwards becomes Mr. Dombey's housekeeper. 

Mrs. Pipchin . . . had acquired an immense reputation as " a great manager " 
of children; and the secret of [her] management was to give them every thing 
that they did n't like, and nothing that they did. Mrs. Pipchin had also founded 
great fame on being a widow-lady whose husband had broken his heart in 
pumping water out of some Peruvian mines. This was a great recommenda- 
tion to Mr. Dombey; for it had a rich sound. '• Broke his heart of the Peruvian 
mines," mused Mr. Dombey. " "Well I — a very respectable way of doing it." 

This celebrated Mrs. Pipchin Avas a marvellous ill-favored, ill-conditioned 
old lady, of a stooping figure, with a mottled face like bad marble, a hook nose, 
and a hard gray eye, that looked as if it might have been hammered at on an 
anvil. Forty years, at least, had elapsed since the Peruvian mines had been the 
death of Mr. Pipchin; but his relict still wore black bombazine. And she was 
such a bitter old lady, that one was tempted to believe there had been some mis- 
take in the application of the Peruvian machinery, and that all her waters of 
gladness, and milk of human kindness, had been pumped out dry, instead of 
the mines. 

The original of this character was a person with whom Dickens 
lodged when employed, at the age of ten years, in a blacking- 
warehouse. He speaks of her (Forster's Life of Dickens, vol i. p. 
56) as " a reduced old lady, long known to our family, in Little 
College Street, Camden-town, who took children in to board, and 
had once done so at Brighton ; and who, with a few alterations 
and embellishments, unconsciously began to sit for Mrs. Pipchin in 
Dombey when she took in me." (Ch. viii, xi, xii, xiv, xvi, 
xlii-xliv, xlvii, li, lix.) 

Bichards. See Toodle, Polly. 

Rob the Grinder. See Toodle, Robin. 

Skettles, Lady. The wife of Sir Barnet Skettles. (Ch. xiv, 
xxiii, xxiv, xxviii, Ix.) 

Skettles, Sir Barnet. A member of the house of commons, 
living in a pretty villa at Fulham, on the banks of the Thames. 
It was anticipated, that, when he did catch the speaker's eyes 



IDomiJCS 3nli Son. 277 

(which he had been expected to do for three or four years), he 
would rather touch up the radicals. His object in life is constantly 
to extend the range of his acquaintance. (Ch. xiv, xxiii, xxiv, 

xxviii, Ix.) 
Skettles, Barnet, junior. His son; a pupil of Doctor Blimber's. 

(Ch. xiv, xxiv, xxviii.) 
Skewton, The Hon. Mrs., called Cleopatra, from the name 
appended to a sketch of her published in her youth. Aunt to Lord 
Feenix, and mother to Edith Dombey. An old lady, who was once 
a belle, and who still retains, at the age of seventy, the juvenility 
of dress, the coquettishness of manner, and the affectation of 
speech, which distinguished her fifty years before. She parades 
her fair daughter through all the fashionable resorts in England in 
order to selfher to the highest bidder. She succeeds in making a 
very " advantageous match " for her, but dies soon after, a hideous 
paralytic, demanding rose-colored curtains for her bed, to improve 
her complexion. (Ch. xxi, xxvi-xxviii, xxx, xxxv-xxxvii, xl, xli.) 
Sownds. A portentous beadle, orthodox and corpulent, who spends 
the greater part of his time sitting in the sun, on the church-steps, 
or, in cold weather, sitting by the fire. (Ch. v, xxxi, Ivii.) 
Toodle, Mr. Husband to Polly Toodle, and father to « Rob the 
Grinder." He is at first a stoker, but afterwards becomes an 
encrine-driver. (Ch. ii, xv, xx, lix.) 
Toodle, Mrs. Polly, called Richards by Mr. Dombey and his 
family! His wife ; foster-mother of little Paul Dombey ; a plump, 
rosy-cheeked, wholesome, apple-faced young woman with five 
children of her own, one of them being a nursing infant. (Ch. ii, 
iii, v-vii, xv, xvi, xxii, xxxviii, Ivi, lix.) 
Toodle, Robin, called by the family Biler (in remembrance of the 
steam-'engine), otherwise styled Rob the Grinder. Their son, 
nominated by Mr. Dombey to a vacancy in the ancient establish- 
ment of " The Charitable Grinders; " but the child meets with so 
much badgering from the boys in the street, and so much abuse 
from the nTaster of the school, that he runs away. He afterwards 
becomes the spy and instrument of Mr. Carker, and finally enters 
the service of Miss Tox with a view to his " restoration to respecta- 
bility." (Ch. ii, v, vi, XX, xxii, xxiii, xxv, xxxi, xxxii, xxxviii, 
xxxix, xlii, xlvi, Iii, lix.) 
Toots, Mr. P. The eldest of Doctor Blimber's pupils ; a wealthy 
young gentleman, with swollen nose and excessively large head, 
24 



278 8ri)e 3ifckens ©ictionats. 

of whom people did say that the doctor had rather overdone it with 
young Toots, and that, when he began to have whiskers, he left off 
having brains. Having license to pursue his own course of study, he 
occupies his time chiefly in writing long letters to himself from persons 
of distinction, addressed " P. Toots, Esq., Brighton, Sussex," which 
he preserves in his desk with great care. His personal appearance 
takes a great deal of his attention, and he prides himself especially 
upon his tailors, Burgess and Co., as being " fash'nable, but very 
dear." His conversational ability is not remarkable ; but his deep 
voice, his sheepish manner, and his stock phrases, — of which " It 's 
of no consequence " is the most usual — are particularly noteworthy. 
Of his intellectual and social deficiencies he is by no means ignorant, 
however. " I am not what is considered a quick sort of a person," 
he says : " I am perfectly aware of that. I don't think anybody 
could be better acquainted with his own, — if it was not too strong 
an expression, I should say with tlie thickness of his own head than 
myself" Mr. Toots conceives so strong a passion for Miss Florence 
Dombey, that he is — to use his own words — " perfectly sore with 
loving her." His attentions, however, are not encouraged, and he be- 
comes very down-hearted. " I know I 'm wasting away," he says to 
Captain Cuttle. " Burgess and Co. have altered my measure. I 'm in 
that state of thinness. If you could see my legs when I take my boots 
off, you 'd form some idea what unrequited affection is." He recovers 
his health and spirits, however, after no long time, and consoles him- 
self for the loss of Miss Dombey by marrying her maid. Miss Susan 
Nipper. The result of this union is a large family of children. After 
the birth of the third, Mr. Toots betakes himself to the " Wooden 
Midshipman " to give information of the happy event to his friend 
Captain Cuttle, whom he always misnames Captain Gills. 

" I knew that you 'd be glad to hear, and so I came down myself. We 're pos- 
itively getting on, you know. There 's Florence and Susan, and now here 'a 
another little stranger." 

" A female stranger ? " inquires the captain. 

" Yes, Captain Gills," says Mr. Toots ; '• and I'm glad of it : the oftener we can 
repeat that most extraordinary woman, my opinion is, the better." 

" Stand by ! " says the captain, turning to the old case-bottle with no throat; 
for it is evening, and the Midshipman's usual moderate provision of pipes and 
glasses is on the board. " Here 's to her ; and may she have ever so many more I " 

♦' Thank 'ee, Captain Gills I " says the delighted Mr. Toots, " I echo the senti- 
ment." 

(Ch. xi, xii, xiv, xviii, xxii, xxviii, xxxi, xxxii, xxxix, xli, xlv, 

xlviii, I, Ivi, Ivii, Ix, Ixii.) 



Bomber antj Son. 279 

Toots, Mrs. See Nipper, Susan. 

Towlinson, Thomas. Mr. Dombey's footman. (Ch. v, xviii, xx, 
xxviii, xxxi, xxxv, xliv, li, lix.) 

Tox, Miss Lucretia. A friend of Mrs. Chick's, greatly admired 
by Miijor Bagstock. 

The lady . . . was a long, lean figure, wearing such a faded air, that she 
seemed not to have been made in what linen-drapers call " fast colors " origi- 
nally, and to have, by little and little, washed out. But for this, she might have 
been described as the very pink of general propitiation and politeness. From 
a long habit of listening admiringly to every thing that was said in her presence, 
and looking at the speakers as if she were mentally engaged in taking off im- 
pression s of their images upon her soul, never to part with the same but with 
life, her head had quite settled on one side. Her hands had contracted a 
spasmodic habit of raising themselves of their own accord as in involuntary 
admiration. Her eyes were liable to a similar affection. She had the softest 
voice that ever was heard ; and her nose, stupendously aquiline, had a little 
knob in the very centre or keystone of the bridge, whence it tended downwards 
towards her face, as in an invincible determination never to turn up at any 
thing. 

After the death of the first Mrs. Dombey, Miss Tox has a modest 
ambition to succeed her, but, failing of doing so, her regard for 
Mr. Dombey becomes severely platonic. (Ch. i, ii, v-viii, x, xviii, 
XX, xxix, xxxi, xxxvi, xxxviii, li, lix, Ixii.) 

Tozer. A room-mate of Paul Dombey's at Dr. Blimber's ; a solemn 
young gentleman whose shirt-collar curls up the lobes of his ears. 
(Ch. xii, xiv, xli, Ix.) 

Wickam, Mrs. A waiter's wife (which would seem equivalent to 
being any other man's widow), and little Paul Dombey's nurse. 
(Ch. viii, xi, xii, xviii, Iviii.) 

Mrs. Wickam was a meek woman, of a fair complexion, with her eyebrows 
always elevated, and her head always drooping; who was always ready to pity 
herself, or to be pitied, or to pity anybody else ; and who had a surprising 
natural gilt of viewing all subjects in an utterly forlorn and pitiable light, and 
bringing dreadful precedents to bear upon them, and deriving the greatest con- 
solation from the exercise of that talent. 

Withers. Page to Mrs. Skewton ; tall, wan, and thin. (Ch. xxi, 
xxvi, xxvii, XXX, xxxvii, xl.) 



280 2Ci)e Bfcfeens Bfctfonarg. 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 

Chapter I. Mr. Dombey expresses his gratification at the birth of a son, and receives 
the congratulations of his sister, Mrs. Chick ; liis sister's friend. Miss Tox, presents her 
oflfering; Mrs. Dombey, not being able to make the effort urged by Mrs. Chick, gradually 
fails, and dies clinging to her daughter. — II. Mrs. Chick exerts herself to provide a wet- 
nurse for little Paul; Miss Tox also interests herself in the matter, and introduces the 
Toodle family; Mrs. Toodle, as Richards, is engaged. — III. Florence hears from Richards 
the story of her mother's death ; Susan Nipper makes her first appearance ; Richards, by 
a little management, brings the children constant! j- together. — IV. Solomon Gills, on the 
occasion of his nephew's, Walter Gay, entei'ing the employ of Dombey and Son, produces 
a bottle of choice Madeira; Captain Cuttle joins the party, and they drink to Dombey and 
Son, and Daughter. — V. Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox enjoy a social evening in the nursery, 
to the disgust of Miss Kipper; little Paul is christened. Miss Tox being one of the spon- 
sors ; chilling effect of the christening collation ; Mr. Dombey shows his regard for Richards 
by appointing Biler a "Charitable Grinder." — VI. Richards and Susan take the children 
to Staggs's Gardens, the home of the Toodles; returning home, Richards discovers Biler in 
trouble, and goes to his rescue; an alarm of " Mad Bull " is raised, and the party gets 
separated; Florence is picked up by Good Mrs. Brown, who robs her of her clothing, and 
sends her home in rags ; she is found in the street by Walter Gay, who takes her to his 
uncle's, and goes to Mr. Dombey 's with the news of her safety, which her father receives 
quite indifferentlj' ; Richards is discharged. — VII. Major Joe Bagstock finds himself su- 
perseded in the notice of Miss Tox by a baby. — VIII. Little Paul, grown to the age of 
five years, surprises his father by his questions about money ; Paul not being strong and 
well, the doctor recommends sea-air, and he and Florence are sent to Mrs. Pipchin's, at 
Brighton ; Paul is impolite to Mrs. Pipchin ; Mrs. Wickam expresses some superstitious 
fears in regard to him; Paul asks Florence what the waves are always saj'ing. — IX. 
Walter notices a change in Uncle Sol, and tries to cheer him up ; returning from the oflice 
one day, he is astonished to find that Mr. Brogley, a broker, has taken possession of the 
stock for debt ; Walter looks up Captain Cuttle, whom he has some trouble in coming at 
on account of the perverseness of his landlady, Mrs. MacStinger; the captain takes the 
matter into consideration, and advises applying to Mr. Dombey for a loan, and he and 
Walter set off to Brighton for that purpose. — X. Major Bagstock traces the cause of Miss 
Tox's reserve to her devotion to the Dombeys, and goes to Brighton, where he throws 
himself in Mr. Dombey's way, and makes his acquaintance ; Walter, supported by Captain 
Cuttle, makes his application to Mr. Dombey ; the captain presents his valuables as secu- 
rity; Mr. Dombey, through Paul, lends the required amount to Mr. Gills. — XI. Mr. Dom- 
bey decides to remove Paul from Mrs. Pipchin's to Doctor Bliraber's; Doctor Blimber's 
establishment, audits methods of teaching; Mr. Dombey, accompanied by Florence and 
Mrs. Pipchin, takes Paul to Doctor Blimber's, where he is introduced to the family of that 
learned gentleman, and where he is left to be subjected to the forcing process for which 
that establishment is celebrated. — XII. Miss Blimber takes Paul in hand; Mr. Toots 
shows his good-will ; Miss Blimber starts Paul in his course of study ; Florence obtains 
the books which contain Paul's lessons, and assists him in their preparation ; Mr. Toots 
continues to interest himself in Paul. — XIII. The deference paid to Mr. Dombey by those 
in and around his office ; Mr. Carker the manager informs Mr. Dombey of a vacancy in 
their agency at Barbadoes, and he decides to send Walter Gay to fill it; Walter hears 
a conversation between the brothers James and John Carker, in which the position 
of the latter is dctincd ; Mr. John Carker tells Walter the story of his temptation and 
fall. — XIV. Miss Blimber prepares an analysis of Paul's character; Paul grows more 
and more old-fashioned ; he receives his invitation to Doctor and Mrs. Blimber's " early 
party ; " he has a fainting-fit in Mr. Feeder's room, and by the doctor's advice is relieved 
from his studies ; Paul collects all his small possessions for taking home ; at the Blimbers's 
party, Paul receives the kindest attentions from all present, and Florence becomes a uni- 
versal favorite; they all show their fondness for Paul at his departure, and he finally 
reaches home. — XV. Walter makes up his mind to inform his uncle of the Barbadoea 
project, and goes to Captain Cuttle to get him to break the news to Sol Gills ; the captain, 



©omfteg anti Son. 281 

In consideration of the matter, " bites his nails a bit," and finally decides to see Mr. 
Dombey, and talk it over with him ; Walter, walking about to give the captain time to 
break the news to Sol Gills, is overtaken by Susan Nipper in a coach, in search of Staggs's 
Gardens and Mrs. Toodle ; he assists her to find Richards, and returns with them to Mr. 
Dombey's house, where he is called in. — XVI. Little Paul, grown more and more feeble, 
begs to see his old nurse and Walter, and dies with his arms around Florence's neck. — 
XVII. Not seeing Mr. Dombey at home, Captain Cattle goes to the office of Dombey and 
Son, and calls on Mr. Carker the manager; the captain explains his understanding of the 
case to Carker, and his aspirations in conuection with Walter and Florence, which Mr. 
Carker takes pains to strengthen, and the captain is fully satisfied that he " has done a 
little business for the youngsters." — XVIII. Funeral of little Paul, and Mr. Dombey's 
indifiference to Florence ; Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox attempt to console Florence ; Sir 
Barnet and Lady Skettles invite Florence to visit them, but she prefers to remain at home ; 
Mr. Dombey grows more and more cold towards his daughter; Mr. Toots calls upon Flor- 
ence, and brings Diogenes, the dog of which Paul was so fond at Doctor Blimber's ; Susan 
Informs Florence that her father is to leave home on the morrow, in company with Major 
Bagstock ; Florence goes to her father's room, and tries to excite his affection and sympa- 
thy, but finds him still cold and reserved. — XIX. Walter prepares to go away, and is 
giving his uncle a message for Florence, when she and Susan enter the shop; Florence 
and Walter take leave of each other, and Florence presents him with a keepsake; John 
Carker comes to take leave of Walter; Walter goes aboard " The Son and Heir," and she 
starts upon her voyage. — XX. Mr. Dombey breakfasts with Major Bagstock; the Major 
speculates on the matrimonial ambition of Miss Tox; Mr. Toodle expresses his sympathy 
at the death of little Paul, but Mr. Dombey does not respond; reflections of Mr. Dombey 
on the road ; the major rallies him on his thoughtfuln^ss ; they arrive at Leamington. — 
XXI. Mr. Dombey and Major Bagstock encounter Mrs. Skewton, and her daughter Mrs. 
Granger; Mrs. Skewton expresses her fondness for " Nature " and "Heart; " Major Bag- 
stock informs Mr. Dombey who these new friends are ; Mr. Dombey and the major call 
upon the ladies, and Mrs. Granger shows her accomplishments. — XXII. Mr. Carker the 
manager shows his affection for Mr. Carker the junior' and for their sister; Mr. Perch 
Informs Mr. Carker that Rob the Grinder is seeking employment ; Mr. Carker has him 
brought in; Sol Gills comes to pay the instalment dae on his debt, and to inquire for news 
of " The Son and Heir," which has not been heard from since she sailed ; Carker proposes 
to put Rob into his emploj'; Carker goes home with Rob, and fully engages to take charge 
of that young hopeful, whom he places as a spy upon Sol Gills; Carker is witness to the 
discomfiture of Mr. Toots, consequent upon that young gentleman's advances to Susan 
Nipper. — XXIII. The lonely life of Florence in the deserted house ; Florence, anxious at 
the absence of news from Walter, goes with Susan to see Sol Gills, and, not finding him at 
home, they go to Captain Cattle's; meeting of Susan Nipper and Mrs. MacStinger; Cap- 
tain Cuttle, at a loss what to say about Walter's ship, consults the oracular Bunsby, who 
gives an opinion, the "bearings" of which "lays in the application on it." — XXIV. Flor- 
ence visits the family of Sir Barnet Skettles at Fulham ; various incidents remind her of 
her estrangement from her father; they encounter Carker on the street, who informs Flor- 
ence there is no news of the ship. — XXV. Sudden disappearance of Sol Gills; Captain 
Cuttle, finding no traces of him, runs away from Mrs. MacStinger, and takes possession of 
the shop. — XXVI. Carker arrives at Leamington ; the major and Mrs. Skewton encourage 
;he attentions of Mr. Dombey to Edith ; Mrs. Skewton accepts for herself and Edith Mr. 
Dombey's invitation to breakfast, and to a ride to Warwick Castle. — XXVII. Carker meets 
Edith in the grove, and relieves her from the annoyance of Good Mrs. Brown; Carker 
watches Edith closely during the breakfast and the trip to Warwjck; Dombey makes an 
appointment with Mrs. Granger "for a purpose," and she recapitulates to her mother the 
management they have used in bringing him to a declaration. — XXVIII. Florence proposes 
to return home ; how Mr. Toots practised boating; returning home, Florence and Susan 
find the house undergoing extensive alterations ; Florence meets Edith and Mrs. Skewton 
for the first time, and hears of the approaching marriage of her father. — XXIX. Mrs. Chick 
ealls upon Miss Tox to inform her of Mr. Dombey's contemplated marriage; Miss Tox is 
ivercome by tlic news, and Mrs. Chick has her eyes opened to the ambitious hopes of her 
Iriend, -vWi "m she consequently casts off. — XXX. Edith shows a warm friendship for Flor- 
24* 



282 2C|)e ©fcfeens ISfctfonats. 

ence ; she urges her to remain at home aloae after her father's marriage ; Mrs. Skcwton 
shows her interest in Florence ; Edith refuses to allow Florence to remain with Mrs. 
Skewton during her own absence. — XXXI. The wedding of Mr- Dombey and Edith 
Granger; the weddinsr-breakfast, where Cousin Feenix makes a speech, and Mr. Carker 
smiles upon the company. — XXXII. Captain Cuttle, keeping close quarters at the Wooden 
Midship jaan, is called upon by Mr. Toots and the Game Chicken ; Mr. Toots is anxious to 
have Captain Cuttle cultivate his acquaintance; he reads from a newspaper an accoimt 
of the loss of " The Son and Heir " to Captain Cuttle ; Captain Cuttle calls again on Mr. 
Carker, who receives him with less politeness than before. — XXXIII. Mr. James Carker's 
home near Norwood, with the picture resembling Edith on the wall ; Mr. John Carker's 
house on the other side of London ; John Carker parts with his sister for the day ; she is 
visited by a stranger gentleman, who is thoroughly acquainted with their history, and who 
secures her promise to call on him if they ever need assistance ; Harriet Carker befriends 
Alice BrovNTi, a returned convict. — XXXIV. Good Mrs. Brown welcomes home her daugh- 
ter ; Mrs. Brown informs Alice what she knows of Carker; learning that it was his sister 
who befriended her, she returns to her house, and flings back her gift with curses.— XXXV. 
Mr. and Mrs. Dombey are welcomed home after their bridal tour; Mr. Dombey, pretending 
to sleep, watches Florence and Edith, and his heart hardens towards his daughter to find 
that she has won his wife's love; Florence relates to Edith the story of Walter ; Edith 
warns Florence not to expect to gain through her her father's affection. — XXXVI. Mr. 
and Mrs. Dombey give an entertainment which is not social; Cousin Feenix relates a 
story ; Mr. Carker Is the only man at ease, and Mrs. Chick feels herself slighted ; Mr. 
Dombey in the presence of Carker makes objections to his wife's conduct. — XXXVII. 
Carker calls upon Mrs. Dombey, and insists upon an Interview ; Carker assumes the ex- 
istence of devoted attachment between Mrs. Dombey and her husband, and endeavors to 
establish an Influence over her through her fear of Injuring Florence; Mrs. Skewton is 
struck with paralysis. — XXXVIII. Miss Tox, abandoned by Mrs. Chick, seeks Richards 
for information of the Dombeys, and is escorted home by Rob the Grinder. — XXXIX. 
Captain Cuttle bestows on Mr. Toots the pleasure of his acquaintance, on condition that 
Florence must never be named or referred to; Rob the Grinder leaves Captain Cuttle's 
service; Captain Cuttle, with the approval of his friend Bunsby, opens Sol Gills's packet 
in the presence of that worthy ; Mrs. MacStlnger and her family suddenly appear on the 
scene; much to Captain Cuttle's amazement, Bunsby pacifies her, and, escorting her 
home, returns with the captain's box, which he had left at Brig Place on his escape. — XL. 
Mr. Dombey expresses to Edith his displeasure at her conduct ; she avows her feelings 
towards him, and requests, for the sake orothers, mutual forbearance ; Mr. Dombey insists 
on his own will; the family, except Mr. Dombey, accompany Mrs. Skewton to Brighton; 
Mrs. Skewton and her daughter encounterHJood Mrs. Brown and Alice. — XLI. Mr. Toots, 
accompanied by Florence, calls at Doctor Blimber's ; on their return Mr. Toots is on the 
point of making a declaration of his love, which Florence checks; death of Mrs. Skewton. 
— XLII. Rob the Grinder appears in the service of Mr. Carker ; Mr. Dombey and Mr. Cark- 
er in council ; Mr. Dombey instructs Carker to act as his agent in expressing to his Mife 
his demands In regard to her conduct; Mr. Dombey Is thrown from his horse and severely 
hurt, and Carker carries the news of the accident to Edith. — XLIII. Susan Nipper ex- 
presses her opinion of Mr. Carker, and of Mrs. Plpchin, who has become housekeeper; 
Florencegoes to her father's room, and kisses him In his sleep; Florence finds Edith In a 
state of great agitation after her interview with Carker. — XLIV. Susan Nipper, watching 
her opportunity, enters Mr. Dombey's room when he Is alone, and relieves her mind; Mrs. 
Plpchin gives her warning, and she leaves under the escort of Mr. Toots ; she destroys his 
hopes of ever being loved by Florence. —XLV. Carker requests an interview alone with 
Edith ; he states the position Mr. Dombey would have him fill towards her, and declares 
himself devoted to her service ; she denies having any affection for her husband ; Carker 
warns her, for Florence's sake, to withdraw her affection from her.— XLVI. Mr. Carker 
Is watched by Good Mrs. Brown and her daughter, who afterwards question Rob the 
Srlnder In regard to his master; Mr. James Carker again taunts his brother with his dis- 
grace, and sneers at his expressions of good-will towards Mr. Dombey. — XLVII. Edith 
avoids Florenoo, and Informs her tliat they must become estranged ; Mr. Dombey persists 
In correcting Edith in the presence of Carker and Florence ; Edith answers him, aftd ask» 



llSombe]) anii Son. 283 

for a separation on his own terms; Mr. Dombey rejects the proposition ; Carker attempts 
to conciliate; Edith shrinlcs from Florence on the stairs; flight of Edith and Carker; 
Florence is struck down by an angry blow from her father. — XLVIII. She flies to the 
house of Sol Gills, where she is received by Captain Cuttle, from whom she learns of the 
disappearance of Walter's uncle ; the captain provides for the comfort of Florence; Mr. 
Toots calls, and informs Captain Cuttle that a person whom he met at the door that morn- 
ing is waiting to see him at Mr. Brogley's; the captain goes to Brogley's, and returns in a 
state of great excitement. — XLIX. Captain Cuttle takes tender care of Florence, and 
cheers her up by reminding her that " Wal'r 's drownded; " Florence goes shopping with 
the captain; the captain relates to Florence the story of the ship lost at sea, from which 
one lad was saved; the shadow of a man appears upon the wall, and she welcomes Walter 
home, while Captain Cuttle "makes over a little property jintly." — L. Florence relates 
the reason of her flight from home ; Walter reasons that his uncle is still alive, and will 
return; they discuss the position of Florence, and decide to And out Susan as the best 
attendant for her ; Mr. Toots, distracted with the news of Florence's disappearance, is re- 
lieved to find she is safe, though in his rival's charge, and promises to devote himself and 
the Chicken to the recovery of Susan ; Florence, pained at Walter's avoiding her, seeks 
an explanation; their interview results in a mutual profession of love, to the great deliglit 
of Captain Cuttle. — LI. Mr. Dombey warns his sister to be silent on the subject of Flor- 
ence; Major Bagstock claims the name of Dombey's friend when the time comes for 
meeting Carker; how the family disaster affects Mr. Dombey's clerks. — LII. Mr. Dombey 
goes to the abode of Good Mrs. Brown to hear news of Carker; from a place of conceal- 
ment he hears Mrs. Brown and her daughter draw from Rob the Grinder, by questions and 
threats, the secrets of his master and Mrs. Dombey's flight, and their place of destination. 
— LIII. John Carker is dismissed; Harriet relates to her brother the appearance of their 
unknown friend, who proves to be Mr. Morfln of Dombey and Son's house ; he relates 
how he came by a knowledge of their affairs, and promises to assist them ; Mr. Morfln 
informs Harriet Carker of the condition of her brother's pecuniary connection with Dom- 
bey and Son ; Alice Brown relents at her share in the betrayal of Carker, and, after relating 
to Harriet the cause she has to curse him, begs her to warn him that Dombey is on his . 
track. — LI V. Edith appears alone at the apartment in Dijon; Carker joins her; Edith 
spurns Carker's advances, threatens him with violence if he approaches her, and shows 
him that her flight with him was in order to avenge the insults she had received from him; 
she informs him of her husband's presence in the town, and escapes from the apartment 
just as Mr. Dombey arrives at the door ; Carker escapes through an obscure passage. — LV. 
Carker hastens back to. England, terrified by the feeling that Mr. Dombey is pursuing him; 
he stops to rest at a remote country station, and, as he is about to proceed, he encounters 
Mr. Dombej', to avoid whom he gets upon the track, and is cut to pieces by the engine. — 
LVI. Mr. Toots returns to the Midshipman with Susan Nipper, and becomes reconciled to 
the loss of Florence; Mrs. Richards becomes housekeeper at the Midshipman; Mr. Toots's 
unhappiness at hearing the banns read in church ; return of Sol Gills ; his long absence 
and his silence are explained ; the Game Chicken expresses his disgust, and he and Mr. 
Toots part company. — LVII. WalterandFlorence visit the tomb of little Paul; marriage 
of Walter and Florence, and their departure on a voyage to China. — LVIII. Failure of the 
house of Dombey and Son; Harriet Carker begs Mr. Morfln to give Mr. Dombey the 
interest of the bulk of the fortune left by her brother James ; Harriet visits Alice Brown, 
whom she has rescued from her sinful life, and who now lies very sick, nursed by Mrs. 
Wickam; Mrs. Brown Informs Harriet of the relationship between her child and Mrs. 
Dombey ; death of Alice. — LIX. Mr. Dombey's servants are dismissed, and the furniture 
Bcldat auction, while Mr. Dombey keeps himself unseen in his own apartments; Mrs. 
Pipchin resigns her charge of the house, and is succeeded by Richards ; Miss Tox continues 
to show her sympathy ; Mr. Dombey wanders through the house by night, and learns to 
long for Florence; she returns, and seeks her father, and takes him home with her; 
Miss Tox takes Rob the Grinder into her service. — LX. Mr. Feeder, B.A., marries Cor- 
nelia Blimber, Mr. Toots and his wife, formerly Miss Susan Nipper, being present at the 
ceremony ; Mrs. MacStinger leads Bunsby to the altar ; Susan returns to Florence. — LXI. 
Cousin Feenix takes Florence to his house to meet Edith ; the last bottle of the old Madeira 
8 drunk to Walter and his wife. — LXII. Final disposition of all the characters. 



©1)0 §aunteb Man, 

AND THE GHOST^S BARGAIN. 

.A FANCY FOR CHRISTMAS-TIME. 



PtBLiSHED in 1848, and illustrated with a frontispiece and title-page engraved 
on wood from drawings by John Tennlel, and with woodcuts in the text from 
sketches by Stanfield, Leech, and Stone. 

The story is founded upon a legend attached to an old portrait : " Lord, keep 
my memory green I " But, instead of taking the word " memory " in its intended 
and obvious sense of continued existence in the remembrance of others, Mr. 
Dickens very curiously misinterprets it to mean that power or capacity of the 
mind which enables it to treasure up for future use the knowledge it acquires. 



CHABAGTERS INTRODUCED. 

Denham, Edmund. A student, whose true name is Longford. 
He comes under the evil influence of Mr. Redlaw, and loses all 
sense of the kindness that has been shown him during a dangerous 
illness. But, when a change falls upon Redlaw, his heart feels the 
effect also, and glows with affection and gratitude to his benefac- 
tress. (Ch. ii, iii.) 

Longford, Edmund. See Denham, Edmund. 

Redlaw, Mr. A learned chemist, and a lecturer at an ancient 
institution in a great city. He is a melancholy but kind-hearted 
man, whose life has been darkened by many sorrows. As he sits 
brooding; one nig-bt over the things that mio;ht have been, but never 
were, Mr. William Swidger, the keeper of the Lodge, with his wife 
Milly, and his father Philip, enter the room to serve his tea, and to 
decorate the apartment with holly in honor of Christmas. 
284 



Srije J^aunteti if^an. 285 

" Another Christmas comes ; another year gone I " murmured thPvChemis^- with 
a gloomy sigh. '* More figures in the lengthening sum of recollection that we 
work and work at, to our torment, till Death idly jumbles all together, and rubs 
all out. So, Philip I " breaking off, and raising his voice as he addressed the old 
man standing apart, with his glistening burden in his arms, from which the quiet 
Mrs. "William took small branches, which she noiselessly trimmed with her scis- 
sors, and decorated the room with, while her aged father-in-law looked on much 
interested in the ceremony. 

" My duty to you, sir," returned the old man. " Should have spoken before, 
sir, but know your ways, Mr. Redlaw, — proud to say, — and wait till spoke to. 
Merry Christmas, sir I and happy New- Year I and many of 'em I Have had a 
pretty many of 'em myself, — ha, ha I —and may take the liberty of wishing 'em. 
I 'm eighty-seven I " 

" Have you had so many that were merry and happy ?" asked the other. 

" Ay, sir; ever so many," returned the old man. 

*' Is his memory impaired with age ? It is to be expected now," said Mr. Red- 
law, turning to the son, and speaking lower. 

" Not a morsel of it, sir," replied Mr. William. " That 's exactly what I say 
myself, sir. There never was such a memory as my father's. He 's the most 
wonderful man in the world. He don't know what forgetting means. It 's the 
very observation I 'm always making to Mrs. William, sir, if you '11 believe me I " 

The old man reminds Mr. Redlaw of a picture of one of tbe 
founders of tbe institution, which hangs in what was once the great 
dining-hall, — a sedate gentleman, with a scroll below him, bearing 
this inscription, " Lord, keep my memory green ! " And then the 
younger Mr. Swidger speaks of his wife's visits to tbe sick and suffer- 
ing, and tells bow she has just returned from nursing a student who 
attends Mr. Redlaw's lectures, and who has been seized with a fever. 

"Not content with this, sir, Mrs. William goes and finds, this very night, 
when she was coming home (why it 's not above a couple of hours ago), a creature, 
more like a young wild beast than a young child, shivering upon a door-step. 
What does Mrs. William do but brings it home to dry it, and feed it, and keep it 
till our old bounty of food and flannel is given away on Christmas morning I If it 
ever felt a fire before, it 's as much as it ever did ; for it 's sitting in the old Lodge 
chimney, staring at ours as if its ravenous eyes would never shut again. It 's 
sitting there, at least," said Mr. William, correcting himself on reflection, "unless 
U 's bolted." 

" Heaven keep her happy ! " said the chemist aloud, " and you too, Philip I and 
jou, William I I must consider what to do in this. I may desire to see this 
student : I '11 not detain you longer now. Good-night I " 

"I thankee, sir, I thankee I" said the old man, " for Mouse, and for my son 
William, and for myself. Where's my son William? William, you take the 
lantern, and go on flrst through them long dark passages, as you did last year 
and the year afore. Ha, ha I / remember, though I 'm eighty-seven I ' Lord, 
keep my memory green I' It 's a very good prayer, Mr. Redlaw, — that of the 
learned gentleman in the peaked beard, with a ruff round his neck ; hangs up, 
second on the right above the panelling, in what used to be, afore our ten poor 
gentlemen commuted, our great dinner hall. * Lord, keep my memory green I ' 
It 's very good and pious, sir. A men, amen I " 



286 Sl)( Bfcftens BCctfonars. 

After the departure of these humble friends, Redlaw falls back 
into his train of sorrowful musings ; and, as he sits before the fire, 
an awful spectral likeness of himself appears to him. It echoes his 
mournful thoughts, brings each wrong and sorrow that he has suffered 
vividly before him, and finally offers to cancel the remembrance of 
them, destroying no knowledge, no result of study, nothing but the 
intertwisted chain of feelings and associations, each in its turn de- 
pendent on and nourished by the banished recollections. 

" Decide," it said, " before the opportunity is lost I " 

"A moment ! I call Heaven to witness," said the agitated man, " that I have 
never been a hater of my kind, — never morose, indiiFcrent, or hard to any thing 
around me. If, living here alone, I have made too much of all that was and 
might have been, and too little of what is, the evil, I believe, has fallen onme, 
and not on others. But, if there were poison in my body, should I not, possessed 
of antidotes, and knowledge how to use them, use them ? If there be poison in 
my mind, and through this fearful shadow I can cast it out, shall I not cast it out ? " 

" Say," said the spectre, *' is it done ?" 

" A moment longer I " he answered hurriedly. *' / would forget it if I could ! 
Have / thought that alone ? or has it been the thought of thousands upon thou* 
sands, generation after generation ? All human memory is fraught with sorrow 
and trouble. My memory is as the memory of other men ; but other men have 
not this choice. Yes : I close the bargain. Yes : I will forget my sorrow, 
wrong, and trouble I " 

" Say." said the spectre, " is it done ? " 

"It is!" 

" It is. And take this with you, man whom I here renounce. The gift that I 
have given, you shall give again, go where you will. Without recovering yourself 
the power that you have yielded up, you shall henceforth destroy its like in all 
whom you approach. Your wisdom has discovered that the memory of sorrow, 
wrong, and trouble, is the lot of all mankind, and that mankind would be the 
happier in its other memories without it. Go I Be its benefactor 1 Freed from 
such remembrance from this hour, carry involuntarily the blessing of such free- 
dom with you. Its dilfusion is inseparable and inalienable from you." 

The phantom leaves him bewildered, and with no memory of 
past wrongs or troubles. He does not know in what way he pos- 
sesses the power to communicate this forgetfulness to others ; but, 
with a vague feeling of having an antidote for the worst of human 
ills, he goes forth to administer it. Those whom he seeksj and 
those whom he casually encounters, alike experience the infection 
of his presence. Charged with poison for his own mind, he poisons 
the minds of others. Where he felt interest, compassion, sympa- 
thy, his heart turns to stone. Selfishness and ingratitude every- 
where spring up in his blighting footsteps. There is but one person 
who is proof against his baneful influence, and that is the ragged 
child whom Mrs. Swidger picked up in the streets. Hardship and 



5C|)e ja^auntcK i»an. 287 

cruelty have so blunted the senses of this wretched creature, that it 
grows neither worse nor better from contact with the haunted man. 
It is, indeed, already a counterpart of him, with no memory of the 
past to soften or stimulate it. Shocked by the evil he has wrought, 
Redlaw awakes to a consciousness of the misery of his condition. 
Havino- loner taucrht that in the material world nothing can be spared, 
that no step°or atom in the wondrous structure could be lost without 
a blank being made in the great universe, he is now brought to 
see that it is the same with good and evil, happiness and sorrow, 
m the memories of men. He invokes the spirit of his darker hours 
to come back and take its gift away, or, at least, to deprive him 
of the dreadful power of giving it to others. His prayer is heard. 
The phantom re-appears, accompanied by the shadow of MiUy, the 
wife of William Swidger, from whom Redlaw has resolutely kept 
himself aloof, fearing to influence the steady quality of goodness that 
he knows to be in her, fearing that he maybe "the murderer of 
what is tenderest and best within her bosom." He learns that she, 
unconsciously, has the power of setting right what he has done; and 
he seeks her out. Wherever she goes, peace and happiness attend 
her The peevish, the morose, the discontented, the ungrateful, and 
the selfish are suddenly changed, and become their former and 
better selves. Even Redlaw is restored to what he was; and a 
clearer light shines into his mind, when MiUy tells him, that, to her, 
it seems "a good thing for us to remember wrong, that we may for- 
give it. 

Some people have said since, that he only thought what has bf» herein set 
down; others, that he read it in the fire, one winter-night, about the twilight- 
time; others, that the ghost was but the representation of his gloomy thoughts, 
and Milly the embodiment of his better wisdom. / say nothing. 

- Except this. That as they were assembled in the old hall, by no o her light 
than that of a great fire (having dined early), the shadows once more stole ou of 
therrhiding-plfces, and danced about the room, showing the children marvellous 
shapes and faces on the walls, and gradually changing what was real and familiar 
there to what was wild and magical; but that there was one thing m the hall, to 
whTch the eyes of Redlaw, and of Milly and her husband, and of the old man and 
Tf the student and his bride that was to be, were often turned; which the shadows 
d d not Obscure or change. Deepened in its gravity by the fi-«f ^\' -^J^^f 
from the darkness of the panelled wall like Ufe, the sedate face in the portrait 
with the beard and ruff, looked down at them from "^der its verdant wreath of 
holly, as they looked up at it; and clear and plain below, as if a voice had uttered 
them, were the words, — 

** Hotti, Iteep mg il^emcrfi ffiteen ! *• 



288 2El)e 33icfeens Bfctfonars- 

Swidger, George. Eldest son of old Philip Swidger; a dying 
man, repentant of all the wrong he has done and the sorrow he has 
caused during a career of forty or fifty years, but suddenly changed, 
by seeing Redlaw at his bedside, into a bold and callous ruffian, 
who dies with an oath on his lips. (Ch. ii.) 

Swidger, Milly. Wife of William Swidger ; an embodiment of 
goodness, gentle consideration, love, and domesticity. (Ch. i-iii.) 
See Redlaw, Mr. 

Swidger, Philip. A superannuated custodian of the institution 
in which Mr. Redlaw is a lecturer. He is a happy and venerable 
old man of eighty-seven years of age, who has a most remarkable 
memory. When, however, at the bedside of his dying son, he meets 
Redhiw (who has just closed the bargain with the ghost, in conse- 
quence of which he causes forgetfulness in others wherever he goes), 
he all at once grows weak-minded and petulant ; but, when he once 
more comes within the influence of his good daughter Milly, he 
recovers all his recollections of the past, and is quite himself again. 
(Ch. i-iii.) See Redlaw. 

Swidger, "William. His youngest son ; servant to Redlaw, and 
husband to Milly, a fresh-colored, busy, good-hearted man, who, 
like his father and others, is temporarily transformed into a very 
different sort of person by coming in contact with his master after 
" the ghost's bargain " is concluded. (Ch. i-iii.) See Redlaw. 

Tetterby, Mr. Adolphus. A newsman, with almost any number 
of small children, — usually an unselfish, good-natured, yielding little 
race, but changed for a time, as well as himself, into the exact oppo- 
site by Mr. Redlaw. (Ch. ii, iii.) 

Tetterby, Mrs. Sophia. His wife, called by himself his " little 
woman." " Considered as an individual, she was rather remarkable 
for being robust and portly ; but, considered with reference to her 
husband, her dimensions became magnificent." (Ch. ii, iii.) 

Tetterby, 'Dolphus. Their eldest son, aged ten : he is a news- 
paper boy at a railway station. (Ch. ii, iii.) 

His juvenility might liave been at some loss for a harmless outlet in this 
early application to traffic, but for a fortunate discovery he made of a means of 
entertaining himself, and of dividing the long day into stages of interest, with- 
out neglecting business. This ingenious invention, remarkable, like many great 
discoveries, for its simplicity, consisted in varying the first vowel in the word 
" paper," and substituting in its stead, at different periods of the day, all the 
other vowels in grammatical order. Thus, before daylight in the winter-time 
he went to and fro, in his little oilskin cap and cape and his big comforter, pier- 
cing the heavy air with his cry of "Morn-ing pa-perl " which, about au hour 



C|)e ?^auntcti il^an. 289 

before noon, changed to " Morn-ing pep-per I » which, at about two, changed to 
!; Morn-ing pip-peH » which, in a couple of hours, changed to " Morn-mg pop- 
per !" and so declined with the sun into " Eve-ning pup-per I » to the great relief 
and comfort of this young gentleman's spirits. 
Tetterby, Johnny. Their second son ; a patient, much-enduring 
child, whose special duty it is to take care of the baby. (Ch. li, 

Tetterby, SaUy. A large, heavy infant, always cutting teeth. 

(Ch. ii, iii.) 

It was a very Moloch of a baby, on whose insatiate altar the whole existence 
of this particular young brother [Johnny] was offered up a daily sacrifice. Its 
personality may be said to have consisted in its never being quiet m anyone 
place for five consecutive minutes, and never going to sleep when required. . . . 
? roved from door-step to door-step in the arms of Uttle Johnny Tetterby, and 
lagged heavily at the rear of troops of juveniles who followed the tumblers or 
thf monkev, and came up, all on one side, a little too late for every thmg that 
was attractive, from Monday morning until Saturday night. Wherever child- 
hood congregated to play, there was little Moloch making Johnny fag and toil 
Wliereve? jf linny desired to stay, little Moloch became fractious, and would not 
remain. Whenever Johnny wanted to go out, Moloch was asleep, and must be 
watched. Whenever Johnny wanted to stay at home, Moloch was awake and 
must betaken out. Yet Johnny was verily persuaded that it was a fau tless 
baby, without its peer in the realm of England; and was quite conten to catch 
meek glimpses of things in general from behind its skirts, or over its limp flap, 
ping bonnet, and to go staggering about with it Uke a very little Porter with a 
verp large parcel, which was not directed to anybody, and could never be dehv 
ered anywhere. 



®:i)c Personal ^istorg of Ulaoib 
€oppcrfiel& tl)c ^ounger. 



This work, which is by many considered to be Dickens's masterpiece, was 
originally brought out under the following title : **The Personal History, Adven- 
tures, Experiences, and Observations of David Copperfield the Younger, of Blun- 
derstone Rookery (which he never meant to be published on any account)." It 
was issued in twenty monthly parts, with two illustrations by " Phiz " (Hablot K. 
Browne) in each part. The first number appeared May 1, 1849; and the preface 
was dated October, 1850. In it the author thus spoke of his work:— 

Of all my books, I like this the best. It will be easily believed that I am a fond parent 
to every child of my fancy, and that no one can ever love that family as dearly as I love 
them ; but, like many fond parents, I have in my heart of hearts a favorite child, and 
his name is David Copperfield. 

Mr. Dickens's affection for his child was easily accounteu for. It was at once 
seen that D. C was only C. D. reversed, and that the story must be in several 
important respects autobiographic; for the hero, like the author, was employed in 
a lawyer's oflBce, then turned parliamentary reporter, and finally became a suc- 
cessful novelist. But that the painful struggles and experiences of Copperfield's 
boyhood were a mere transcript of the writer's own sufferings and feelings was 
aot fully known until the publication of Forster's " Life of Dickens." Yet such 
^as the case. 

For the poor little lad — with good ability and a most sensitive nature, turned at the age 
jf ten into a " laboring hind " in the service of " Murdstone and Grinby," and conscioua 
already of what made it seem very strange to him that he could so easily have been 
thrown away at such an age — was indeed himself. His was the secret agony of soul at 
finding himself " companion to Mick Walker and Mealy Totatoes; " and his the tears that 
mmgled with the water in which he and they rinsed and washed out bottles. It had all 
been written as fact, before he thought of any other use for it ; and it was not antil several 
nonths later — when the fancy of " David Copperfield," itself suggested by what he bad 
290 



00 written of his early troubles, began to take shape in his mind —that he abandoned his 
first intention of writing his own life. Those warehouse experiences fell then so aptly 
Into the subject he had chosen, that he could not resist the temptation of immediately 
using them ; and the manuscript recording them, which was but the first portion of what 
he had designed to write, was embodied in the substance of the eleventh and earlier chap- 
ters of his noveL 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 

Adams. Head boy at Doctor Strong's ; affable and good-humored, 
and with a turn for mathematics. (Ch. xvi, xviii.) 

Babley, Richard, called Mr. Dick. A mild lunatic, and a protege 
of Miss Betsey Trotwood's, who insists that he is not mad. 

" He had a favorite sister," said my aunt, — "a good creature, and very kind 
to him : but she did what they all do, — took a husband ; and he did what they all 
do, — made her wretched. It had such an effect upon the mind of Mr. Dick, 
{that '» not madness, I hope 1) that, combined with his fear of his brother and 
his sense of his unkindness, it threw him into a fever. That was before he 
came to me; but the recollection of it is oppressive to him even now. Did he 
say any thing to you about King Charles the First, child ? " 

»'Yes, aunt." 

" Ah I " said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if she were a little vexed. " That 's 
his allegorical way of expressing it. He connects his illness with great dis- 
turbance and agitation, naturally; and that 's the figure, or the simile, or what- 
ever it 's called, which he chooses to use. And why should n't he, if he thinks 
proper ? " 

I said, " Certainly, aunt." 

" It 's not a business-like way of speaking," said my aunt, " nor a worldly 
way. I am aware of that ; and that 's the reason why I insist upon it that there 
sha'n't be a word about it in his memorial." 

" Is it a memorial about his own history that he is writing, aunt ?" 

*' Yes, child," said my aunt, rubbing her nose again. " He is memorializ- 
ing the Lord Chancellor, or the Lord Somebody or other, — one of those people^ 
at all events, who are paid to he memorialized, — about his affairs. I suppose it 
will go in one of these days. He has n't been able to draw it up yet, without 
introducing that mode of expressing himself; but it don't signify ; it keeps him 
employed." 

In fact, I found out afterwards that Mr. Dick had been for upwards of ten 
years endeavoring to keep King Charles the First out of the memorial; but he 
had been constantly getting into it, and was there now. 

(Ch. xiii-xv, xvii, xix, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxviii, xlii, xliii, xlv, xlix, 

lii, liv, Ix, Ixii, Ixiv.) 

Bailey, Captain. An admirer of the eldest Miss Larkins. (Ch< 

xviii.) 



292 2C!)e Sfcfeens Bictionarg. 

BarkiSj Mr. A carrier who takes David Copperfield from Blun- 
derstone to Yarmouth, on his first being sent away to school. 
As they jog along, Copperfield asks Mr. Barkis if they are going 
no farther than Yarmouth together, 

" That 's about it," said the carrier. " And there I shall take you to the 
Btage-cutch; and the stage-cutch, that '11 take you to — wherever it is." 

As this was a great deal for the carrier to say, — he being of a phlegmatic 
temperament, and not at all conversational, — I offered him a cake as a mark of 
attention, which he ate at one gulp, exactly like an elephant; and which 
made no more impression on his big face than it would have done on an ele- 
phant's. 

" Did she make 'em,now? " said Mr. Barkis, always leaning forward, in hia 
slouching way, on the footboard of the cart, with an arm on each knee. 

*' Peggotty, do you mean, sir ? " 

"Ah 1 " said Mr. Barkis, — " her." 

" Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking." 

"^Do she, though ?" said Mr. Barkis. 

He made up his mouth as if to whistle ; but he did n't whistle. He sat looking 
at the horse's ears as if he saw something new there, and sat so for a consider- 
able time. By and by, he said, — 

" No sweethearts, I b'lieve ? " 

" Sweetmeats, did you say, Mr. Barkis ? " For I thought he wanted some- 
thing else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description of refresh- 
ment. 

" Hearts," said Mr. Barkis, — " sweethearts : no person walks with her ? " 

" With Peggotty ? " 

" Ah I " he said, — " her." 

" Oh, no 1 She never had a sweetheart." 

" Did n't she, though?" said Mr. Barkis. 

Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he did n't whistle, but sat 
looking at the horse's ears. 

" So she makes," said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection, " all the 
apple-parsties, and does all the cooking; do she?" 

I replied that such was the fact. 

" WeU, I '11 tell you what," said Mr. Barkis. " P'raps you might be writin' to 
her?" 

" I shall certainly write to her," I rejoined. 

" Ah I " he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. " Well I If you was 
writin' to her, p'raps you 'd recollect to say that Barkis was willin' ; would 
you ? " 

" That Barkis was willing," I repeated innocently. " Is that all the mes- 
sage ? " 

" Ye— es,'' he said, considering. " Ye — es : Barkis is willin'." 

" But you will be at Blunderstone again to-morrow, Mr. Barkis," I said, 
faltering a little at the idea of my being far away from it then, " and could give 
your own message so much better." 

As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head, and once 
more confirmed his previous request by saying with profound gravity, *' Barkis 
Is willin'; that 's the message," I readily undertook its transmission. While 
I was waiting for the coach in the hotel at Yarmouth, that very afternoon, I 
procured a sheet of paper and an inkstand, and wrote a note to Peggotty, which 



Jiabftr ©opperffelu. 293 

ran thus: "My dear Peggotty, I have come here safe, Barkis is willing. My 
love to mamma. Yours affectionately. P. S.— He says he particularly wants 
you to know — Barkis is willing." 

After the death of her mistress, Peggotty becomes " willin' " also, 

and marries Mr. Barkis, who makes her a very good husband, save 

that he is " rather near," as she expresses it, and jealously guards 

a box under his bed, which contains his money and valuables ; 

although he persists in telling everybody that it is " old clothes.*' 

At last he is taken very ill ; and David goes down from London to 

visit him. 

"Barkis, my dear," said Peggotty, . . . bending over him, . . ."Here»8 
my dear boy, — my dear boy, Master Davy, who brought us together, Bar- 
kis; that you sent messages by, you know! Won't you speak to Master 
Davy ? » 

He was as mute and senseless as the box, from which his form derived the 
only expression it had. 

"He 's a-going out with the tide," said Mr. Peggotty to me, behind his 
hand. 

My eyes were dim, and so were Mr. Peggotty's ; but I repeated in a whisper, 
" With the tide ? » 

" People can't die along the coast," said Mr, Peggotty, " except when the 
tide 's pretty nigh out. They can't be born unless it 's pretty nigh in, — not 
properly born, till flood. He 's a-going out with the tide. It 's ebb at half-arter 
three, slack water half an hour. If he lives till it turns, he '11 hold his own till 
past the flood, and go out with the next tide." 

We remained there, watching him, a long time, — hours. What mysterious 
influence my presence had upon him in that state of his senses, I shall not pre- 
tend to say ; but, when he at last began to wander feebly, it is certain he was 
muttering about driving me to school. 

" He 's coming to himself," said Peggotty. 

Mr. Peggotty touched me, and whispered with much awe and reverence, 
" They are both a-going out fast." 

" Barkis, my dear I " said Peggotty. 

" C. P. Barkis," he cried faintly. " No better woman anywhere ! 

" Look I Here 's Master Davyl" said Peggotty. For be now opened his 
eyes. 

I was on the point of asking him if he knew me, when he tried to stretch out 
his arm, and said to me distinctly, with a pleasant smile, — 

" Barkis is willin' I " 

And, it being low water, he went out with the tide. 

(Ch. ii-v, vii, viii, x, xxix, xxxi.) 

Barkis, Mrs. See Peggotty, Clara. 

Charley. A drunken, ugly old dealer in second-hand sailor's clothes 
and marine stores, to whom David Copperfield sells his jacket for 
fourpence when travelling on foot to his aunt's. (Ch. xiii.) 

Chestle, Mr. A hop-grower ; a plain, elderly gentleman, wLo 
marries the eldest Miss Larkins. (Ch. xviii.) 
25* 



294 8ri)e Bfcfeens jafctionatj. 

Chillip, Mr. The doctor who officiates at the birth of David 

Copperfield. (Ch. i, ii, ix, x, xxii, xxx, lix.) 

He was the meekest of his sex, the mUdest of little men. He sidled in and 
out of a room to take up the less space. He walked as softly as the Ghost in 
" Hamlet," and more slowly. He carried his head on one side, — partly in modest 
depreciation of himself, partly in modest propitiation of everybody else. It is 
nothing to say that he had n't a word to throw at a dog. He could n't have 
thrown a word at a mad dog. 

Clickett. An " orfling " girl from St. Luke's Workhouse ; servant 
to the Micawbers. She is a dark-complexioned young woman with 
a habit of snorting. (Ch. xi, xii.) 

Copperfield, Mrs. Clara. The mother of David ; an artless, 
affectionate little woman, whom Miss Betsey Trotwood insists upon 
calling a mere baby. She marries Mr. Murdstone, a stern man, 
who, in conjunction with his sister, attempts to teach her "firmness," 
but breaks her heart in the experiment. (Ch. i-iv, viii, ix.) See 
Copperfield, David. 

Copperfield, David. The character from whom the story takes its 
name, and by whom it is supposed to be told. He is a posthumous 
child, having been born six months after his father's death. His 
mother, young, beautiful, inexperienced, loving, and lovable, not 
long afterwards marries a handsome and plausible, but hard and 
stern man, — Mr. Murdstone by name, — who soon crushes her 
gentle spirit by his exacting tyranny and by his cruel treatment of 
her boy. After being for some time instructed at home by his 
mother, and reduced to a state of dullness and sullen desperation 
by his step-father, David is sent from home. He is sent to a vil- 
lainous school, near London, kept by one Creakle, where he receives 
more stripes than lessons. Here he is kept until the death of his 
mother, when his step-father sends him (he being now ten years 
old) to London, to be employed in Murdstone and Grinby's ware- 
house in washing out empty wine-bottles, pasting labels on them 
when filled, and the like, at a salary of six shillings a week. But 
such is the secret agony of his soul at sinking into companionship 
with Mick Walker, " Mealy Potatoes," and other boys with whom 
he is forced to associate, that he at length resolves to run away, 
and throw himself upon the kindness of a great-aunt (Miss Betsey 
Trotwood), whom he has never seen, but of whose eccentric habits 
and singular manner he has often heard. She receives him much 
better than he has expected, and soon adopts him, and sends him to 
school in the neighboring town of Canterbury. He does well here, 



BabfH €opperfielTi. 295 

and finally graduates with higli honors. Having made up his mind to 
become a proctor, he enters the office of Mr. Spenlow, in London. 
Soon after this, his aunt loses the greater part of her property ; and 
David, being compelled to look about him for the means of subsist- 
ence, learns the art of stenography, and supports himself comfort- 
ably by reporting the debates in parliament. In the mean time he 
has fallen desperately in love with Dora, the daughter of Mr. Spen- 
low, but has been discouraged in his suit by the young lady's father. 
Mr. Spenlow dying, however, he becomes her accepted suitor. Turn- 
ing his attention soon after to authorship, he acquires a reputation, 
and obtains constant employment on magazines and periodicals. He 
now marries Dora, a pretty, captivating, affectionate girl, but utterly 
ignorant of every thing practical. It is not long before David dis- 
covers that it will be altogether useless to expect that his wife will 
develop any stability of character, and he resolves to estimate her by 
the good qualities she has, and not by those which she has not. One 
night, she says to him in a very thoughtful manner that she wishes 
him to call her his " child-wife." 

" It 's a stupid name," she said, shaking her curls for a moment, — " child-wife.'» 

I laughingly asked my child-wife what her fancy was in desiring to be so called. 
She answered without moving, otherwise than as the arm I twined about her may 
have brought her blue eyes nearer to me, — 

" I don't mean, you silly fellow, that you should use the name instead of Dora : 
I only mean that you should think of me that way. When you are going to be 
angry with me, say to yourself, ' It *s only my child-wife.' When I am very dis- 
appointing, say, 'I knew, a long time ago, that she would make but a child-wife.' 
When you miss what I should like to be, and I think can never be, say, ' Still my 
foolish child-wife loves me.' For indeed I do." 

I had not been serious with her, having no idea, until now, that she was seri- 
ous herself. But her affectionate nature was so happy in what I now said to her 
with my whole heart, that her face became a laughing one before her glittering 
eyes were dry. She was soon my child-wife indeed, sitting down on the floor out- 
side the Chinese House, ringing all the little bells one after another, to punish Jip 
for his recent bad behavior; while Jip lay blinking in the doorway with his head 
out, even too lazy to be teased. 

This appeal of Dora's made a strong impression on me. I look back on the 
time I write of; I invoke the innocent figure that I dearly loved, to come out from 
the mists and shadows of the past, and turn its gentle head towards me once 
again ; and I can still declare that this one little speech was constantly in my 
memory. 

At length Dora falls into a decline, and grows weaker and weaker, 

day by day. 

It is night, and I am with her still. Agnes has arrived; has been among us for 
a whole day and an evening. She, my aunt, and I have sat with Dora since the 
morning, all together. We have not talked much ; but Dora has been perfectly 
wntented and cheerful. We are now alone. 



296 2r!)e 23fcfeen» JBfctionarg. 

Do I know now that my child-wife will soon leave me ? They have told me so : 
thoy have told me nothing new to my thoughts ; but I am far from sure that I have 
taken that truth to heart. I cannot master it. ... I cannot shut out a pale linger- 
ing shadow of belief that she will be spared. 

"I am going to speak to you, Doady. I am going to say something I have 
often thought of saying lately. You won't mind ? " with a gentle look. 

" Mind, my darling ? " 

" Because I don't know what you wiU think, or what you may have thought 
sometimes. Perhaps you hare often thought the same. Doady, dear, I am afraid 
I was too young." 

I lay my face upon the pillow by her, and she looks into my eyes, and speaks 
very softly. Gradually, as she goes on, I feel with a stricken heart that she la 
speaking of herself as past. 

" I am afraid, dear, I was too young : I don't mean in years only, but in experi- 
ence and thoughts and every thing. I was such a sUly little creature I I am afraid 
it would have been better if we had only loved each other as a boy and girl, and 
forgotten it. I have begun to think I was not fit to be a wife." 

I try to stay my tears, and to reply, " O Dora, love I — as fit as I to be a hus- 
band." 

" I don't know," with the old shake of her curls. " Perhaps. But, if I had been 
more fit to be married, I might have made you more so too. Besides, you are very 
clever, and I never was." 

" We have been very happy, my sweet Dora." 

" I was very happy, very. But as years went on my dear boy would have 
wearied of his child-wife. She would have been less and less a companion for 
him. He would have been more and more sensible of what was wanting in his 
home. She would n't have improved. It is better as it is." 

" O Dora, dearest, dearest, do not speak to me so I Every word seems a re- 
proach." 

" No, not a syllable! " she answers, kissing me. . . . "O Doady I after more 
years, you never could have loved your child-wife better than you do ; and after 
more years she would so have tried and disappointed you, that you might not have 
been able to love her half so well. I know I was too young and foolish. It is 
much better as it is." 

After the death of his wife, David goes abroad, passing through 
many weary phases of mental distress. During his absence, Agnes 
Wickfield, a dear friend of Dora's and of himself, writes to him. 

She gave me no advice ; she urged no duty on me ; she only told me in her own 
fervent manner what her trust in me was. She knew (she said) how such a na- 
ture as mine would turn afliiction to good. She knew how trial and emotion would 
«xalt and strengthen it. She was sure, that, in my every purpose, I should gain a 
firmer and a higher tendency through the grief I had undergone. She who so 
gloried in my fame, and so looked forward to its augmentation, well knew that I 
would labor on. She knew that in me sorrow could not be weakness, but must 
be strength. As the endurance of my childish days had done its part to make me 
what I was, so greater calamities would nerve me on to be yet better than I was; 
and so, as they had taught me, would I teach others. She commended me to God, 
who had taken my innocent darling to his rest ; and in her sisterly affection cher- 
ished me always, and was always at my side, go where I would, proud of what I 
had done, but infinitely prouder yet of what I was reserved to do. 



SBabfTr CojjperffelU. 291 

When three years have passed, David returns to England, where 
his few works have already made him famous. But more than all 
else he values the praise and encouragement he receives from 
Agnes, whom he has come to. think the better angel of his life, and 
■whom he would gladly make his wife, did he not believe that her 
feeling towards him was merely one of sisterly affection, and that 
she has formed a deeper attachment for another. He discovers at 
last, however, that she loves him only, and that she has loved him 
all her life ; though she unselfishly subdued the feelings of her heart 
so far as to rejoice sincerely in his marriage to Dora. They are 
soon united, and she then tells him that Dora, on the last nioht of 
her life, expressed the earnest wish that she, and she alone, should 
succeed to her place. 

And now, as I close my task, subduing my desire to linger yet, these faces 
fade away. But one face, shining on me like a heavenly light, by which I see 
all other objects, is above them and beyond them all. And that remains. 

I turn my head, and see it in its beautiful serenity beside me. My lamp burns 
low, and I have written far into the night; but the dear presence, without 
which I were nothing, bears me company. 

Agnes, oh, my soul, so may thy face be by me when I close my life indeed I 
so may I, when realities are melting from me like the shadows which I now 
dismiss, still find thee near me, pointing upward I 

Copperfield, Mrs. Dora. See Spenlow (Dora), and Copper- 
field (David). 

Creakle, Mr. Master of Salem House, the school to which David 
Copperfield is sent by Mr. Murdstone ; an ignorant and ferocious 
brute, who prides himself on being a " Tartar." (Ch. v-vii, ix, Ixi.) 

Mr. Creakle's face was fiery; and his eyes were small, and deep in his head; 
he had thick veins in his forehead, a little nose, and a large chin. He was bald 
on the top of his head ; and had some thin, wet-looking hair, that was just turn- 
ing gray, brushed across each temple, so that the two sides interlaced on his fore- 
head. But the circumstance about him which impressed me most was, that he 
had no voice, but spoke in a whisper. The exertion this cost him, or the con- 
sciousness of talking in that feeble way, made his angry face so much more 
angry, and his thick veins so much thicker, when he spoke, that I am not sur- 
prised, on looking back, at this peculiarity striking me as his chief one. 

1 should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his profession 
more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting at the boys, which was 
like the satisfaction of a craving appetite. I am confident that he could n't 
resist a chubby boy, especially; that there was a fascination in such a subject, 
which made him restless in his mind until he had scored and marked him for 
the day. . . . Miserable little propitiators of a remorseless idol — how abject we 
were to him I What a launch in life I think it now, on looking back, to be so 
mean and servile to a man of such parts and pretensioi^ 1 



298 8Cfje 2Bfclten» JDfctionars. 

Here I sit at the desk again, watching his eye — humbly watching his eye — as 
he rules a ciphering-book for another victim whose hands have just been flat- 
tened by that identical ruler, and who is trying to wipe the sting out with a 
pocket-handkerchief. I have plenty to do. I don't watch his eye in idleness, 
but because I am morbidly attracted to it in a dread desire to know what 
he will do next, and whether it will be my turn to suffer, or somebody else's. A 
lane of small boys beyond me, with the same interest in his eye, watch it too, 
I think he knows it ; though he pretends he don't. He makes dreadful mouths 
as he rules the ciphering-book; and now he throws his eye sideways down our 
lane, and we all droop over our books, and tremble. A moment afterwards we 
are again eying him. An unhappy culprit, found guilty of imperfect exercise, 
approaches at his command. The culprit falters excuses, and professes a deter- 
mination to do better to-morrow. Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he beats him, 
and we laugh at it, — miserable little dogs, we laugh, with our visages as white 
as ashes, and our hearts sinking into our boots. 

Creakle, Mrs. His wife ; a thin and quiet woman, ill-treated by 
her husband. (Ch. vi, ix.) 

Creakle, Miss. Their daughter; supposed to be in love with 
Steerforth. (Ch. vi, vii, ix.) 

Crewler, Mrs. Wife of the Reverend Horace Crewler ; a very- 
superior woman, who has lost the use of her limbs. She becomes 
the mother-in-law of Traddles. Whatever occurs to harass her (as 
the engagement and prospective loss of her daughters) usually settles 
in her legs, but sometimes mounts to her chest and head, and per- 
vades her whole system in a most alarming manner. (Ch. xxxiv, 
xli, Ix.) 

Crewler, Miss Caroline. Eldest daughter of Mrs. Crewler ; a 
very handsome girl, who marries a dashing vagabond, but soon sep- 
arates from him. (Ch. xli, Ix, Ixiv.) 

Crewler, Miss Louisa. Mrs. Crewler's thkd daughter. (Ch. 
xli, Ix, Ixiv.) 

Crewler, Miss Lucy. One of Mrs. Crewler's two youngest 
daughters, educated by her sister Sophy. (Ch. xli, Ix, Ixiv.) 

Crewler, Miss Margaret. One of Mrs. Crewler's two young- 
est daughters, educated by her sister Sophy. (Ch. xli, Ix, Ixvi.) 

Crewler, Miss Sarah. Mrs. Crewler's second daughter. (Ch. 
xxxiv, xli, Ix, Ixiv.) 

Crewler^ Miss Sophy. Fourth daughter of Mrs. Crewler ; always 
forgetful of herself, always cheerful and amiable, and as much a 
mother to her mother (who is a confirmed invalid) as she is to 
her sisters. She becomes the wife of Tommy Traddles, who re- 
gards her both before and after marriage as " the dearest girl in 
the world." (Ch. xxvii, xxviii, icxxiv, xli, xliii, lix, bd, Ixii, Ixiv.) 



Babiti ^opperffelti. 299 

Crewler, The Reverend Horace. A poor Devonsliire clergy- 
man, -with a large family and a sick wife. (Ch. xxxiv, xli, Ix, Ixiv.) 

Crupp, Mrs. A stout woman living in Buckingham Street, in the 
Adelphi, who lets a set of furnished chambers to David Copper- 
field when he becomes an articled clerk in the office of Spenlow 
and Jorkins. She is a martyr to a curious disorder called " the 
spazzums," which is generally accompanied with inflammation of the 
nose, and requires to be constantly treated with peppermint. (Ch. 
xxiii-xxvi, xxviii, xxxiv, xxxv, xxxvii.) 

Dartle, Rosa. A lady some thirty years old, living with Mrs. 
Steeribrth as a companion, and passionately in love with her son, 
who does not return her affection. She is of a slight, short figure, 
and a dark complexion ; has black hair, and large black eyes, 
and a remarkable scar on her lip, caused by a wound from a ham- 
mer thrown at her by Steerforth, when a boy, in a moment of 
exasperation. She is very clever, bringing every thing to a grind- 
stone, and even wearing herself away by constant sharpening, till 
she is all edge. (Ch. xx, xxi, xxiv, xxix, xxxii, xxxvi, xlvi, 1, Ivi, 
Ixiv.) 

Demple, George. A schoolmate of David Copperfield's at Sa- 
lem House. (Ch. V, vii.) 

Dolloby, Mr. A dealer in second-hand clothes, rags, bones, and 
kitchen-stuff, to whom David Copperfield sells his waistcoat for 
ninepence when he runs away from " Murdstone and Grinby's " to 
seek his aunt. (Ch. xiii.) 

Dora. See Spenlow, Dora. 

Em'ly, Little. Niece and adopted daughter of Mr. Peggotty, and 
the object of David Copperfield's first love. She is afterwards 
betrothed to her cousin Ham, but is seduced by Steerforth. (Ch. 
iii, vii, x, xvii, xxi-xxiii, xxx.) See Steerforth, (James). 

Endell, Martha. An unfortunate young woman, without money or 
reputation, who finally discovers " Little Em'ly," and restores her 
to her uncle. She is reclaimed, and emigrates to Australia, where 
she marries happily. (Ch. xxii, xl, xlvi, xlvii, 1, li, Ivii, Ixiii.) 

Pibbetson, Mrs. An old woman, inmate of an almshouse. (Ch. 

V.) 
Greorge. Guard of the Yarmouth mail. (Ch. v.) 
&rainger. A friend of Steerforth's, and a very gay and lively fel« 

low. (Ch. xxiv.) 
Gray per, Mr. A neighbor of Mrs. Copperfield. (Ch. ix, xxii.) 



300 ^t)t ©icfeens 33ictfonars. 

Grayper, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. ii, xxii.) 

Gulpidge, Mr, A guest of the Waterbrooks, who has something 
to do at second-hand with the law business of the Bank. (Ch. 

XXV.) 

Gulpidge, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. xxv.) 

Gumraidge, Mrs. The widow of Mr. Peggotty's partner. He? 

husband dying poor, Mr. Peggotty offers her a home, and supports 

her for years ; and this kindness she acknowledges by sitting in the 

most comfortable corner, by the fireside, and complaining that she ia 
:r " a lone, lorn creetur^ and everythink goes contrairy with her." 

(Ch. iii, vii, x, xxi, xxii, xxxi, xxxii, xl, li, Ivii, Ixiii.) 
Hamlet's Aunt. See Spiker, Mrs. Henry. 
Heep, Mrs. A very 'umble widow woman, mother of Uriah Heep, 

and his " dead image, only short." (Ch. xvii, xxxix, xlii, Iii, Ixi.) 
Heep, Uriah. A clerk in the law-office of Mr. Wickfield, whose 

partner he afterwards becomes. David Copperfield's first meeting 

with him is thus described : — 

"When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were intent upon 
the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at a small window on the ground- 
floor (in a little round tower that formed one side of the house), and quickly 
disappear. The low-arched door then opened, and the face came out. It was 
quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the window ; though, in the grain of it, 
there was that tinge of red which is sometimes to be observed in the skins of 
red-haired people. It belonged to a red-haired person, — a youth of fifteen, as I 
take it now, but looking much older, — whose hair was cropped as close as the 
closest stubble ; who had hardly any eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of 
a red-brown, so unsheltered and unshaded, that I remember wondering how 
he went to sleep. He was high-shouldered and bony ; dressed in decent black 
with a white wisp of a neck-cloth ; buttoned up to the throat ; and had a long 
lank, skeleton hand, which particularly attracted my attention as he stood at 
the pony's head, rubbing his chin \vith it, and looking up at us in the chaise. 

The following conversation takes place a little while after- 
wards : — 

" I suppose you are quite a great lawyer," I said, after looking at him for 
some time. 

" Me, Master Copperfield ? " said Uriah. " Oh, no 1 I 'm a very 'umble per- 
son." 

It was no fancy of mine about his hands, I observed; for he frequently 
ground the palms against each other as if to squeeze them dry and warm, be- 
sides often wiping them, in a stealthy way, on his pocket-handkerchief. 

" 1 am well aware that I am the 'umblest person going," said Uriah Heep 
modestly, *■' let the other be where he may. My mother is likewise a very 
'umble person. We live in a numble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much 
to be thankful for. My father's former calling was 'umble. He was a sexton." 

" What is he now ? " I asked. 




URIAH HEEP AND HIS MOTHER. 



IBabilf €opperffelTr. 30i 

" He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said Uriah Heep. 
" But we have much to be thankful for. How much have I to be thankful for 
in living with Mr. Wickfield I " 

As time runs on, David finds that Uriah is obtaining an un- 
bounded influence over Mr. Wickfield, whom he deludes in every 
possible way, and whose business he designedly perplexes and com- 
plicates in order to get it wholly into his own hands ; and, further- 
more, that he looks with greedy eyes upon Mr. Wickfield's daughter 
Agnes, to whom David himself is warmly attached. He even goes 
so far as to boast of this, and to declare his intention of making 
her his wife. 

I asked him, with a better appearance of composure than I could have thought 
possible a minute before, whether he had made his feelings known to Agnes. 

" Oh, no, Master Copperfield 1 " he returned, — "■ oh, dear, no 1 Not to any one 
but you. You see I am only just emerging from my lowly station. I rest a 
good deal of hope on her observing how useful I am to her father (for I trust 
to be very useful to him indeed, Master Copperfield), and how I smooth the 
way for him, and keep him straight. She 's so much attached to her father, 
Master Copperfield, (oh, what a lovely thing it is in a daughter I) that I think 
she may come, on his account, to be kind to me." 

I fathomed the depth of the rascal's whole scheme, and understood why he 
laid it bare. 

" If you '11 have the goodness to keep my secret. Master Copperfield," he 
pursued, "and not, in general, to go against me, I shall take it as a particular 
favor. You would n't wish to make unpleasantness. I know what a friendly 
heart you 've got; but, having only known me on my 'umble footing (on my 
'umblest, I should say ; for I am very 'umble still), you might, unbeknown, go 
against me, rather, with my Agnes. I call her mine, you see. Master Copper- 
field. There 's a song that says, ' I 'd crowns resign to call her mine I ' I hope 
to do it, one of these days." 

Uriah goes on weaving his meshes around Agnes and her father 
until he has them completely in his power. But his rascality is at 
last unravelled and exposed by Mr. Micawber ; and Mr. Wickfield 
not only recovers all the property of which he has been defraud- 
ed, but is absolved from all suspicion of any criminal act or intent. 
Uriah pursues his calling in another part of the country, but is 
finally arrested for fraud, forgery, and conspiracy, and is sentenced 
to solitary imprisonment. (Ch. xv-xvii, xix, xxv, xxxv, xxxvi, 
xxxix, xlii, xlix. Hi, liv, Ixi.) 

Hopkins, Captain. A prisoner for debt, in the King's Bench 
Prison, at the time that Mr. Micawber is also confined there. Un- 
der this name is described a certain Captain Porter, who was a 
fellow-prisoner with Mr. John Dickens in the Marshalsea PrisoD 
about the year 1822. (Ch. xi.) 
26 



302 2r|)e 33icltens Dfctionarj. 

Janet. Miss Betsey Trotwood's handmaid. (Ch. xiii-xv, xxiii, 
xxxix, xliil, Ix.) 

Jip (a contraction of Gypsy). Dora's pet dog. (Ch. xxvi, 

. xxxiii, xxxvi-xxxviii, xli-xliv, xlviii, iii, liii.) 

Joram, Mr. The partner and son-in-law of Mr. Omer the under- 
taker. (Ch. ix, xxi, xxiii, xxx, li, Ivi.) 

Joram, Mrs. See Omer, Miss Minnie. 

Jorkins, Mr. A proctor, partner of Mi\ Spenlow. (Ch. xxiii, 

xxix, xxxv, xxxviii, xxxix.) 

He was a mild man of a heavy temperament, whose place in the business 
was to keep himself in the background, and be constantly exhibited, by name, 
as the most obdui-ate and ruthless of men. If a clerk wanted his salary raised, 
Mr. Jorkins would n't listen to such a proposition; if a client were slow to 
settle his bill of costs, Mr. Jorkins was resolved to have it paid : and, however 
painful these things might be (and always were) to the feelings of Mr. Spen- 
low, Mr. Jorkins would have his bond. The heart and hand of the good angel 
Spenlow would have been always open, but for the restraining demon Jorkins. 
As I have grown older, I think I have had experience of some other houses 
doing business on the principle of Spenlow and Jorkins. 

Larkins, Miss. A tall, dark, black-eyed, fine figure of a woman, 
of about thirty, with whom David Copperfield falls desperately in 
love when about seventeen. His passion for her is beyond all 
bounds ; but she crushes his hopes by marrying a hop-grower. (Ch. 
xvili.) 

Larkins, Mr. Her father ; a gruff old gentleman with a double 
chin, and one of his eyes immovable in his head. (Ch. xviii.) 

Littimer. Confidential servant of Steerforth. (Ch. xxi-xxiii, 
xxviii, xxix, xxxi, xxxii, xlvi, Ixi.) See Steeeforth, James. 

I believe there never existed in his station a more respectable-looking man. 
He was taciturn, soft-footed, very quiet in his manner, deferential, observant, 
always at laand when wanted, and never near when not wanted; but his great 
claim to consideration was his respectability. He had not a pliant face; he had 
rather a stiif neck, rather a tight smooth head with short hair clinging to it at 
the sides, a soft way of speaking, with a peculiar habit of whispering the letter 
S so distinctly, that he seemed to use it oftener than any other man : but every 
peculiarity that he had he made respectable. . . . He surrounded himself with 
an atmosphere of respectability, and walked secure in it. It would have been 
next to impossible to suspect him of any thing wrong, he was so thoroughly 
resp.ectable. Nobody could have thought of putting him in a livery, he was so 
highly respectable. To have imposed any derogatory work upon him would 
have been to inflict a wanton insult on the feelings of a most respectable man. 

Eklaldon, Jack. Cousin to Mrs. Doctor Strong ; an idle, needy 
libertine with a handsome face, a rapid utterance, and a confident, 
bold air. (Ch. xvi, xix, xxxvi, xli, xlv, Ixiv.) 




MR. MICAWBER AND HIS FAMILY. 



Babftf <!i:o|)pe«fieltr. 303 

Markhara. A gay and lively fellow of not more than twenty ; a 

friend of Steerforth's. (Ch, xxiv, xxv.) 
Markleham, Mrs. Mother of Mrs. Doctor Strong. (Ch. xvi, xix, 

xxxvi, xlii, xlv, Ixiv.) 

Our boys used to call her the Old Soldier, on account of her generalship and 
the skill with which she marshalled great forces of relations against the doctor. 
She was a little, sharp-eyed woman, who used to wear, when she was dressed, 
one unchangeable cap, ornamented with some artificial flowers, and two aiti- 
ficial butterflies supposed to be hovering about the flowers. 

Mealy Potatoes. (So called on account of his pale complexion.) 
A boy employed at Murdstone and Grinby's wine-store, with David 
Copperfield and others, to examine bottles, wash them out, label 
and cork them, and the like. (Ch. xi.) 

Mell, Mr. Charles. An under master at Salem House, Mr. 
Creakle's school. He is a gaunt, sallow young man, with hollow 
cheeks, and dry and rusty hair. Mr. Creakle discharges him 
because it is ascertained that his mother lives on charity in an 
alms-house. He emigrates to Australia, and finally becomes 
Doctor Mell of Colonial Salem-House Grammar-School. (Ch. 
v-vii, Ixiii.) 

Mali, Mrs. His mother. (Ch. v, vii.) 

Micawber, Master Wilkins. Son of Mr. Wilkins Micawber. 
He has a remarkable head voine, and becomes a chorister-boy in 
the cathedral at Canterbury. At a later date, he acquires a high 
reputation as an amateur singer. (Ch. xi, xii, xvii, xxvii, xxxvi, 
xlii, xlix, lii, liv, Ivii, Ixiv.) 

Micawber, Miss Emma. Daughter of Mr. Wilkins Micawber ; 
afterwards Mrs. Ridger Begs of Port Middlebay, Australia. (Ch. 
xi, xii, xvii, xxvii, xxxvi, xlii, xlix, lii, liv, Ivii, Ixiv.) 

Micawber, Mr. Wilkins. A gentleman — remarkable for his 
reckless improvidence, his pecuniary involvements, his alternate 
elevation and depression of spirits, his love of letter-writing and 
speech -making, his grandiloquent rhetoric, his shabby devices 
for eking out a genteel living, and his constantly " waiting 
for something to turn up" — with whom David Copperfield 
lodges while drudging in the warehouse of Murdstone and Grinby. 

f In this character Mr. Dickens has represented some of the 

\ experiences and foibles of his own father, who was for several years 
in very embarrassed circumstances, and for a time a prisoner for 
debt in the Marshalsea. But two facts should be borne in mind : 
first, that Mr. Dickens thus described his father to a friend (see 



804 *ii-ye lUicKens Bittlonax^, 

Forster's Life of Dickens, vol. i, pp. 37, 38), — "I know my fatlier 
to be as kind-hearted and generous a man as ever lived in the 
world. Every thing that I can remember of his conduct to his wife 
or children or friends, in sickness or affliction, is beyond all praise. 
. . . He never undertook any business, charge, or trust, that he did 
not zealously, conscientiously, punctually, honorably discharge. His 
industry has always been untiring." Secondly, it must not be for- 
gotten, that, " though IMr. Micawber is represented as careless in 
money-matters, apt to get into debt, and addicted to getting out of 
it by means of bills and notes of hand, he never says or does any 
thing at variance with morality or probity. . . . He is never mean, 
false, or dishonest." 

Mr. Micawber is thus introduced upon the scene : — 

The counting-house clock was at half-past twelve, and there was general prep- 
aration for going to dinner, when Mr. Quinion tapped at the counting-house win- 
dow, and beckoned me to go in, I went in. and found there a stoutish, middle- 
aged person, in a brown surtout and black tights and shoes, with no more hair 
upon his head (which was a large one. and very shining) than there is upon an 
egg, and with a very extensive face, which he turned full upon me. His clothes 
were shabby; but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty sort 
of a stick with a large pair of rusty tassels to it; and a quizzing-glass hung 
outside his coat, — for ornament, I afterwards found, as he very seldom looked 
through it, and could n't see any thing when he did. 

" This," said Mr. Quinion, in allusion to myself, '' is he." 

" This," said the stranger, with a certain condescending roll in his voice, and a 
certain indescribable air of doing something genteel, which impressed me very 
much, " is Master Copperfleld. I hope I see you well, sir ? " 

I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufficiently ill at ease, 
Heaven knows ; but it was not in my nature to complain much at that time of my 
life : so I said I was very well, and hoped he was. 

" I am," said the stranger, " thank Heaven I quite well. I have received a 
letter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he mentions that he would desire me to 
receive into an apartment in the rear of my house, which is at present unoccupied, 
and is, in short, to be let as a — in short," said the stranger, with a smile, and in a 
burst of confidence, — '' as a bed-room, the young beginner whom I have now the 
pleasure to " — and the stranger waved his hand, and settled his chin ia his shirt- 
collar. 

" This is Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinion to me. 

" Ahem 1 " said the stranger : '' that is my name." 

" Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinion, " is known to Mr. Murdstone. He takes 
orders for us on commission, when he can get any. He has been written to by 
Mr. 3Iurdstone on the subject of your lodgings, and he will receive you as a 
lodger." 

When young Copperfield takes possession of his quarters at Mr. 
Micawber's, Windsor Terrace, City Road, he finds the domestic sit- 
uation of that gentleman beset with difficulties which to any othei 
man would be thoroughly discouraging. 



ISabfli ©opperfieln. 305 

The only visitors I ever saw or heard of were creditors. Tliey used to come at 
all hours; and some of them were quite ferocious. One dirty-faced man, I think 
he was a bootmaker, used to edge himself into the passage as early as sevei 
o'clock in the morning, and call up the stairs to Mr. Micawber, " Come I You 
ain't out yet, you know. Pay us, will you ? Don't hide, you know : that 's mean. 
I would n't be mean, if I was you. Pay us, will you ? You just pay us : d' ye hear ? 
Come!" Receiving no answer to these taunts, he would mount in his wrath to 
the words " swindlers " and '' robbers," and, these being ineffectual too, would 
sometimes go to the extremity of crossing the street, and roaring up at the win- 
dows of the second floor, where he knew Mr. Micawber was. At these times, Mr. 
Micawber would be transported with grief and mortification, even to the length 
(as I was once made aware by a scream from his wife) of making motions at 
himself with a razor; but, within half an hour afterwards, he would polish up his 
shoes with extraordinary pains, and go out, humming a tune with a greater air of 
gentility than ever. 

His difficulties come to a crisis at last, however ; and he is arrested 
one morning, and carried to the King's Bench Prison, saying that the 
god of day has gone down upon him : but before noon he is seen 
playing a lively game of skittles. At last, he applies for release 
under the Insolvent Debtors' Act ; and in due time is set at liberty. 
Mrs. Micawber's friends being of the opinion that his wisest course 
will be to quit London, he determines to go down to Plymouth, where 
he thinks something may " turn up " for him in the custom house. 
Before parting from David, he gives him a little friendly counsel. 

"My dear young friend," said Mr. Micawber, "I am older than you; a man 
of some experience in life, and — and — of some experience, in short, in difficulties, 
generally speaking. At present, and until something turns up (which I am, I may 
say, hourly expecting), I have nothing to bestow but advice. Still my advice is 
so far worth taking, that — in short, that I have never taken it myself, and am 
the" — here Mr. Micawber, who had been beaming and smiling all over his head 
and face, up to the present moment, checked himself, and frowned, — ''the mis- 
erable wretch you behold." 

" My dear Micawber ! " urged his wife. 

" I say," returned Mr. Micawber, quite forgetting himself, and smiling again, — 
"the miserable wretch you behold. My advice is, never do to-morrow what you 
can do to-day. Procrastination is the thief of time. Collar him ! " 

" My poor papa's maxim," Mrs. Micawber observed. 

" My dear," said Mr. Micawber, '^ your papa was very well in his way, and 
Heaven forbid that I should disparage him I Take him for all in all, we ne'er 
shall — in short, make the acquaintance, probably, of anybody else possessing, at 
his time of life, the same legs for gaiters, and able to read the same description 
of print without spectacles. But he applied that maxim to our marriage, my dear, 
and that was so far prematurely entered into, in consequence, that I never 
recovered the expense." 

Mr. Micawber looked aside at Mrs. Micawber, and added, " Not that I am 
sorry for it : quite the contrary, my love." After which he was grave for a minute 
or so. 

"My other piece of advice, Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, "you know. 
26* 



306 8C|)e Bfcltens SSftttonarg. 

Annual income twenty pounds; annual expenditure nineteen, nineteen, six — 
result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds; annual expenditure twenty 
pounds nought and six, —result misery. The blossom is blighted, the leaf is 
withered, the god of day goes down upon the dreary scene, and — and, in short, 
you are forever floored. As I am I " 

To make his example the more impressive, Mr. Micawber drank a glass of 
punch with an air of great enjoyment and satisfaction, and whistled the College 
Hornpipe. 

Some time after this, David — then a pupil of Dr. Strong's, at 
Canterbury — unexpectedly meets Mr. Micawber, who has left Plym- 
outh (talent not being wanted in the custom house), and is invited to 
dine at his inn with him. 

We had a beautiful little dinner, — quite an elegant dish of fish, the kidney-end 
of a loin of veal roasted, fried sausage-meat, a partridge, and a pudding. There 
was wine, and there was strong ale; and after dinner Mrs. Micawber made us a 
bowl of hot punch with her own hands. 

Mr. Micawber was uncommonly convivial. I never saw him such good com- 
pany. . . . 

As the punch disappeared, Mr. Micawber became still more friendly and con- 
vivial. Mrs. Micawber's spirits becoming elevated too, we sang " Auld Lang 
Syne." When we came to "Here 's a hand, my trusty frere," we all joined 
hands round the table; and when we declared we would "take a right gude 
Willie Waught," and had n't the least idea what it meant, we were really 
affected. 

In a word, I never saw anybody so thoroughly jovial as Mr. Micawber was 
down to the very last moment of the evening, when I took a hearty farewell of 
himself and his amiable wife. Consequently I was not prepared at seven o'clock 
next morning to receive the following communication, dated half-past nine in the 
evening, — a quarter of an hour after I had left him : — 

" My dear young Friend, — 

" The die is cast : all is over. Hiding the ravages of care with a sickly mask of 
mirth, I have not informed you, this evening, that there is no hope of the remit- 
tance. Under the circumstances, alike humiliating to endure, humiliating to con- 
template, and humiliating to relate, I have discharged the pecuniary liability 
contracted at this establishment, by giving a note of hand, made payable fourteen 
days after date at my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes due, it 
will not be taken up. The result is destruction. The bolt is impending, and tho 
tree must fall. 

" Let the wretched man who now addresses you, my dear Copperfield, be a 
beacon to you through life. He writes with that intention and in that hope. If 
he could think himself of so much use, one gleam of day might, by possibility, 
penetrate into the cheerless dungeon of his remaining existence ; though his 
ongevity is, at present (to say the least of it), extremely problematical. 
" This is the last communication, my dear Copperfield, you will ever receive 

" From 
"The 

" Beggared Outcast, 

"WiLKiNS Micawber.*' 

I was so shocked by the contents of this heart-rending letter, that I ran off 

iirectly towards the little hotel with the intention of taking it on my way to Dr 



SDabiti <S:opi)erfielti. 307 

strong's, and trying to soothe Mr. Micawber with a word of comfort. But half- 
way there I met the London coach with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber up behind; Mr. 
Micawber, the very picture of tranquil enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. Micawber's 
conversation, eating walnuts out of a paper bag, with a bottle sticking out of his 
breast-pocket. As they did not see me, I thought it best, all things considered, 
not to see them. So, with a great weight taken off my mind, I turned into a by- 
street that was the nearest way to school, and felt, upon the whole, relieved that 
they were gone; though I still liked them very much, nevertheless. 

Mr. Micawber next engages in the sale of corn upon commission ; 
but not finding it " an avocation of a remunerative description," and 
o-etting again into " temporary embarrassments of a pecuniary nature," 
he accepts an offer from Uriah Heep to become his confidential clerk. 
But, before leaving London for Canterbury (where Heep is estab- 
lished), he invites David to spend an evening at his house with their 
common friend Traddles. When the time has nearly come for them 
to take their leave, Mr. Micawber rises to acknowledge a toast pro- 
posed by Copperfield. He thanks his friends for their good wishes, 
and speaks as if he was going " five hundred thousand miles " away. 
He hopes to become an ornament to the profession of which he is 
" about to become an unworthy member," and finally concludes as fol- 
lows : — 

" Under the temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities, contracted with a view to 
their immediate liquidation, but remaining unliquidated through a combination of 
circumstances, I have been under the necessity of assuming a garb from which 
my natural instincts recoil, — I allude to spectacles, — and possessing myself of a 
cognomen to which I can establish no legitimate pretensions. All I have to say- 
on that score is, that the cloud has passed from the dreary scene, and the god of 
day is once more high upon the mountain-tops. On Monday next, on the arrival 
of the four o'clock afternoon coach at Canterbury, my foot will be oh my native 
heath — my name, Micawber I " 

Mr. Micawber resumed his seat on the close of these remarks, and di-ank two 
glasses of punch in grave succession. He then said with much solemnity, — 

" One thing more I have to do before this separation is complete; and that is to 
perform an act of justice. My friend Mr. Thomas Traddles has, on two several 
occasions, ' put his name,' if I may use a common expression, to bills of exchange 
for my accommodation. On the first occasion, Mr. Thomas Traddles was left — 
let me say, in short, in the lurch. The fulfilment of the second has not yet arrived. 
The amount of the first obligation," here Mr. Micawber carefully referred to pa- 
pers, " was, I believe, twenty-three, four, nine and a half; of the second, accord- 
ing to my entry of that transaction, eighteen, six, two. These sums, united, 
make a total, if my calculation is correct, amounting to forty-one, ten, eleven and 
a half. My friend Mr. Copperfield will perhaps do me the favor to check that 
total?" 

I did so, and found it correct. 

" To leave this metropolis," said Mr. Micawber, '• and my friend Mr. Thomas 
Traddles, without acquitting myself of the pecuniary part of this obligation, would 
weigh upon my mind to an insupportable extent. I have therefore prepared for 
\ny friend Mr. Thomas Traddles, and I now hold in my hand, a document which 



308 2rije Bfcftens Bfctfonarj. 

accomplishes the desired object. I beg to hand to my friend Mr. Thomas Trad 
dies my I. O. U. for forty-one, ten, eleven, and a half; and I am happy to recovei 
my moral dignity, and to know that I can once more walk erect before my fellow- 
man." 

With this introduction (which greatly aflfected him), Mr. Micawber placed his 
I. O. U. in the hands of Traddles, and said he wished him well in every relation 
of life. I am persuaded, not only that this was quite the same to Mr. 3Iicawber 
as paying the money, but that Traddles himself hardly knew the difference until 
he had had time to think about it. 

Mr. IMicawber does not find his position in Heep*s office as pleasant 
as his sanguine temperament has led him to anticipate. He soon dis- 
covers his employer to be a consummate hypocrite and villain, who is 
bent upon ruining his partner, ISir. Wickfield, and that he himself is 
being made use of as a tool to aid in furthering the scheme. lie 
therefore sets himself to the task of unravelling the whole tissue of 
rascality so cunningly woven by Heep ; and, when this is done, he 
denounces and exposes him in a long and characteristic letter, which 
he reads to Copperfiekl, Traddles, and Miss Betsey Trotwood, who 
meet by appointment at Mr. Wickfield's former office. 

Miss Trotwood, having been made acquainted with Mr. Micawber's 
straitened circumstances, suggests that it might be well for him to try 
his fortunes in Australia, and offers to pay his debts, and the passage 
of himself and family to that country. Mr. Micawber is delighted at 
the idea, and makes immediate preparations for emigrating. In a few 
days, he informs his kind patron that his " boat is on the shore," and 
" his bark is on the sea." 

*'In reference to our domestic preparations, madam," said Mr. Micawber with 
some pride, " for meeting the destiny to which we are noAV understood to be self- 
devoted, I beg to report them. My eldest daughter attends at five every morning 
in a neighboring establishment, to acquire the process — if process it may be called 
— of milking cows. My younger children are instructed to observe, as closely as 
circumstances will permit, the habits of the pigs and poultry maintained in the 
poorer parts of this city, — a pursuit from which they have, on two occasions, 
been brought home within an inch of being run over. I have myself directed 
some attention, during the past week, to the art of baking ; and my son "Wilkins 
has issued forth with a walking-stick, and driven cattle, when permitted, by the 
rugged hirelings who had them in charge, to render any voluntary service in that 
direction, which I regret to say, for the credit of our nature, was not often ; he 
being generally warned, with imprecations, to desist." 

IMany years afterwards, David receives from Mr. Peggotty (who 
went out in the same vessel with Mr. Micawber) a copy of an Aus- 
tralian paper containing an account of a public dinner given to "our 
distinguished townsman, Wilkins Mcawber, Esquire," and, in another 
-olumn, a letter addressed — 



3i9abiK ©opperfieltr. 309 

"TO DAVID COPPERFIELD, ESQUIRE, 

"THE EMINENT AUTHOR. 

"MY DEAE Sib, 

" Years have elapsed since I had an opportunity of ocularly perusing the 
lineaments, now familiar to the imaginations of a considerable portion of the 
civilized world. 

" But my dear sir, though estranged (by the force of circumstances over which 
I Lave had no control) from the personal society of the friend and companion of 
my youth, I have not been unmindful of his soaring flight; nor have I been 
debarred, 

Though seas between us braid ha' roared,' 

(Burns) from participating in the intellectual feasts he has spread before us. 

" I cannot, therefore, allow of the departure from this place of an individual 
whom we mutually respect and esteem, without, my dear sir, taking this public 
opportunity of thanking you on my own behalf, and, I may undertake to add, on 
that of the whole of the inhabitants of Port Middlebay, for the gratification of 
which you are the ministering agent. 

" Go on, my dear sir I You are not unknown here; you are not unappreciated. 
Though ' remote,' we are neither ' unfriended,' ' melancholy,' nor (I may add) 
' slow.' Go on, my dear sir, in your eagle course f The inhabitants of Port 
Middlebay may at least aspire to watch it with delight, with entertainment, with 
instruction 1 

" Among the eyes elevated towards you from this portion of the globe will 
ever be found, while it has light and life, 

"The 
" Eye 
" Appertaining to 

" WiLKINS MiCAWBER, 

" Magistrate." 
I found, on glancing at the remaining contents of the newspaper, that Mr. 
Micawber was a diligent and esteemed correspondent of that journal. There 
was another letter from him in the same paper, touching a bridge; there was 
an advertisement of a collection of similar letters by hira, to be shortly repub- 
lished in a neat volume, " with considerable additions;" and, unless I am very 
much mistaken, the leading article was his also. 

(Ch. xi, xii, xvii, xxvii, xxviii, xxxvi, xxxix, xlii, xlix, lii, liv, 

Ivii, Ixiii.) 

" Mr. Micawber is as genuine an addition to the world's population as if we knew 
where to find his marlc in the parish register, and were acquainted with all the begin- 
nings of his career, — how he fell in love with Mrs. Micawber, and how that lady's 
femily permitted a union which was to give them so much trouble. His genteel air, his 
frankness on the subject of his difllculties, his delightful readiness to give his attention 
to any thing that may turn up, the way in which his impecuniosity serves him as a 
profession, are all set before us with an unfailing spirit. Mr. Micawber never flags : 
there is never a moment at which we can feel that the author has forgotten what went 
before, or lost the thread. ... As we read, we, too, feel the exhilarating eflfect of a meal 
procured by the sale of a bedstead; we,too, are aware of that sensation of having settled 
aseriouspoint of business, which possesses Mr. Micawber when he has put his name to 
a bill. We scorn (he worldling who hesitates at that security. We understand the roll 
In our friend's voice, his consciousness that he has come into his property, and paid off 
ftll the charges with a liberal hand when he writes his name to that bit of paper. . . . 



310 ST^e 23fcftens Ilfctfonarj. 

Mr. Micawber's sense of honor and generosity is strong; though it is not, perhaps, sc 
effectual upon his character as might be desired. It is true that the signature of the 
bill is to him, as it were, a receipt in full, clearing him of all further responsibility ; but 
still how charmingly ready he is to sign it t how incapable of taking advantage of any 
one's generosity without that precaution I . . . Perhaps none of us have ever encoun- 
tered in the world the full-blown perfection of a Mr. Micawber; . . . but how many 
hints and suggestions of Mr. Micawber has tlie ordinary observer met! and how 
Icindly, how genially, with what a friendly insight, has the author combined those 
suggestions, and made them into one consistent being." — Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 
cix, pp. 685, 686. 

Micawber, Mrs. Brama. Wife of Wilkin s Micawber ; a hu- 
morously-exaggerated portrait of Mr. Dickens's mother. (See 
Forster's Life of Dickens, vol. i, ch. i, ii.) 

Arrived at his [llr. Micawber's] house in "Windsor Terrace (which I noticed 
was shabby, like himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could), he 
presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at all young, who 
was sitting in the parlor (the first floor was altogether unfurnished, and the 
blinds were kept down to delude the neighbors) with a baby at her breast. 
This baby was one of twins ; and I may remark here, that I hardly ever, in all 
my experience of the family, saw both the twins detached from Mrs. Micawber 
at the same time. One of them was always taking refreshment. 

When her husband's resources are at the lowest ebb, she deter- 
mines to come to his rescue if she can. 

Poor Mrs. Micawber I She said she had tried to exert lierself; and so I have 
no doubt she had. The centre of the street-door was perfectly covered with a 
great brass plate, on which was engraved, " Mrs. Micawber's Boarding Estab- 
lishment for Young Ladies : " but I never found that any young lady had ever 
been to school there; or that any young lady ever came, or proposed to come; or 
that the least preparation was ever made to receive any young lady. 

In the ease of her temper and the elasticity of her spirits, Mrs. 
Micawber is scarcely surpassed by her husband. 

I have known her to be thrown into fainting-fits by the king's taxes at three 
o'clock, and to eat lamb-chops breaded, and to drink warm ale (paid for with 
two teaspoons that had gone to the pawnbroker's), at four. On one occasion, 
when an execution had just been put in, coming home, through some chance, as 
early as six o'clock, I saw her lying (of course with a twin) under the grate in 
a swoon, with her hair all torn about her face; but I never knew her more 
cheerful than she was that very same night, over a veal-cutlet before the kitchen- 
fire, telling me stories about her papa and mamma, and the company they used 
to keep. 

Among the striking and praiseworthy characteristics of this re- 
markable lady, her devoted attachment to her husband is deserving 
of special mention. On one occasion, she tells David Copper- 
field,— 

I never will desert Mr. Micawber 1 Mr. Micawber may have concealed his 
difficulties from me in the first instance; but his sanguine temper may have led 
him to expect that he would overcome them. The pearl necklace and bracelets 



©abfU ©opperfielU. 311 

which I inherited from mamma have been disposed of for less than half their 
value ; and the set of coral which was the wedding-gift of my papa has been 
actually thrown away for nothing. But I never will desert Mr. Micawber. 
No 1 " cried Mrs. Micawber, more affected than before, '' I never will do it I It 's 
of no use asking me." 

I felt quite uncomfortable, — as if Mrs. Micawber supposed I had asked her to 
do any thing of the sort, — and sat looking at her in alarm. 

" Mr. Micawber has his faults. I do not deny that he is improvident. I do 
not deny that he has kept me in the dark as to his resources and his liabilities 
both," she went on, looking at the wall ; " but I never will desert Mr. JVIi- 
cawber 1 " 

Mrs. Micawber having now raised her voice into a perfect scream, I was so 
frightened, that I ran off to the club-room, and disturbed Mr. Micawber, in the 
act of presiding at a long table, and leading the chorus of 

Gee up, Dobbin, 
Gee ho, Dobbin, 
Gee up, Dobbin, 
Gee up, and Gee ho — o— o I 

with the tidings that Mrs. Micawber was in an alarming state ; upon which he 
Immediately burst into tears, and came away with me with his waistcoat full of 
the heads and tails of shrimps of which he had been partaking. 

"= Emma, my angel I " cried Mr. Micawber, running into the room, " what is 
the matter ? " 

" I never will desert you, Micawber I " she exclaimed. 

"My life I" said Mr. Micawber, taking her in his arms. "I am perfectly 
aware of it ! " 

" He is the parent of my children I He is the father of my twins I He is the 
husband of my affections 1 " cried Mrs. Micawber, struggling; " and I ne— ver— 
will— desert Mr. Micawber 1 " 

Mr. Micawber was so deeply affected by this proof of her devotion (as to 
me, I was dissolved in tears), that he hung over her in a passionate manner, 
imploring her to look up and to be calm. But, the more he asked Mrs. Micawber 
to lookup, the more she fixed her eyes on nothing; and, the more he asked her 
to compose herself, the more she would n't. Consequently Mr. Micawber was 
soon so overcome, that he mingled his tears with hers and mine, until he 
begged me to do him the favor of taking a chair on the staircase while he got 
her into bed. 

(Ch. xi, xii, xvii, xxvii, xxviii, xxxvi, xlii, xlix, lii, liv, Ivii, Ixiii.) 

'* Mrs. Micawberis almost as good her husband. The intrepid courage with which she 
keeps up that imaginary struggle with her family, scorning every temptation to leave 
Mr. Micawber ; her occasional despair, and beautiful power of overcoming it as a wife 
and a mother, and making herself as comfortable as circumstances permit ; her anxiety 
that Mr. Jlicawber should have occupation worthy of his talents, and be appreciated 
at last; her never-failing gentility, and sense of what is due to her position, — are all 
kept up with the same perfect spirit and reSLlity." —BlacAwood's Magazine, \ol. cix, 
pp. 685, 686. 

Mills, Miss Julia. The bosom-friend of Dora Spenlow. (Ch. 

xxxiii, xxxvii, xxxviii, xli, Ixiv.) 

I learned . . . that Miss Mills had had her trials in the course of a checkered 
existence, and that to these, perhaps, I might refer that wise benignity of 
manner which I had already noticed. I found, in the course of the day, that 



312 S^e Bfcfeens Bictfonatj. 

this was the case ; Miss Mills having been unhappy in a misplaced affection, and 
being understood to have retired from the world on her awful stock of ex- 
perience, but still to take a calm interest in the unblighted hopes and loves of 
youth. 

For the more exact discharge of the duties of friendship, Miss 

Mills keeps a journal, of which the following is a sample : — 

"Monday. — My sweet D. still much depressed. Headache. Called atten- 
tion to J. as being beautifully sleek. D. fondled J. Associations thus awakened 
opened flood-gates of sorrow. Rush of grief admitted. (Are tears the dew- 
di-ops of the heart ? — J. M.) " 

Mills, Mr. Her father ; a terrible fellow to fall asleep after din- 
ner. (Ch. xxxiii, xxxvii, xxxviii, xli.) 

Mowcher, Miss, A dealer in cosmetics, a fashionable hair-dresser, 

&c., who makes herself useful to a variety of people in a variety of 

ways. She is very talkative, and plumes herself on being " volatile," 

but is thoroughly kind-hearted and honest. (Ch. xxii, xxxii, Ixi.) 

I was still looking at the doorway, thinking that Jliss Mowcher was a 
long while making her appearance, when, to my infinite astonishment, there 
came waddling round a sofa which stood between me and it a pursy dwarf of 
about forty or forty-five, with a very large head aud face, a pair of roguish gray 
eyes, and such extremely little arms, that, to enable herself to lay a finger archly 
against her snub nose as she ogled Steerforth, she was obliged to meet the fin- 
ger half-way, and lay her nose against it. Her chin, which was what is called 
a double chin, was so fat, that it entirely swallowed up the strings of her bonnet, 
— bow and all. Throat she had none; waist she had none; legs she had none, 
worth mentioning; for though she was more than full sized down to where her 
waist would have been (if she had had any), and though she terminated, as 
human beings generally do, in a pair of feet, she was so short, that she stood at 
a common sized chair as at a table, resting a bag she carried on the seat. This 
lady, — dressed in an off-hand, easy style; bringing her nose and her fore-finger 
together with the diflSculty I have described; standing with her head ne- 
cessarily on one side, and, with one of her sharp eyes shut up, making an un- 
commonly knowing face, — after ogling Steerforth for a few moments, broke into 
a torrent of words. 

Murdstone, Mr. Edward. Step-father of David Copperfield. 

(Ch. ii-iv, viii-x, xiv, xxxiii, lix.) See Copperfield, David. 

Firmness, I may observe, was the grand quality on which both Mr. and Miss 
Murdsloue took their stand. However I might have expressed my comprehen- 
sion of it at that time, if I had been called upon, I nevertheless did clearly 
comprehend, in my own way, that it was another name for tyranny, and for a 
certain gloomy, arrogant, devil's humor, that was in them both. The creed, 
as I should state it now, was this : Mr. Murdstone was firm ; nobody in his 
world was to be so firm as Mr. Murdstone; nobody else in his world was to be 
firm at all, for everybody was to be bent to his firmness. Miss Murdstone was 
an exception. She might be firm, but only by relationship, and in an inferior 
and tributary degree. My mother was another exception. She might be firm, 
and must be, but only in bearing their firmness, and firmly believing there 
was no other firmness upon earth. 




''^Mj^Mllu^Mt^'^- 



%'^r(^!<i:^ .' 



SiabiTr ©opperfieUr, 313 

The gloomy taint that was in the Murdstone blood darkened the Murdstone 
religion, which was austere and wrathful. I have thought, since, that its as- 
suming 'that character was a necessary consequence of Mr. Murdstone's firm- 
ness, which would n't allow him to let anybody off from the utmost weight of 
the severest penalties he could find any excuse for. 

After the death of David's mother, Mr. Murdstone marries, for 
his second wife, a lively young woman, but soon breaks her spirit 
by his gloom and austerity, and at last reduces her to a state bor- 
dering on imbecility. 
Murdstone, Miss Jane. Sister to Edward Murdstone ; a gloomy- 
looking, severe, metallic lady, dark, like her brother, whom she 
greatly resembles in face and voice ; and with very heavy eye- 
brows, nearly meeting over her large nose, as if, being disabled by 
the wrongs of her sex from wearing whiskers, she had carried them 
to that account. She is constantly haunted by a suspicion that the 
servants have a man secreted somewhere on the premises ; and, 
under the influence of this delusion, she dives into the coal-cellar at 
the most untimely hours, and scarcely ever opens the door of a dark 
cupboard, without clapping it to again, in the belief that she has 
got him. (Ch. iv, viii-x, xii, xiv, xxvi, xxxiii, xxxviii, lix.) See 
CopPERFiELD (Mrs. Clara), Copperfield (David), Murd- 
stone (Mr. Edward). 
Nettingall, The Misses. Principals of a boarding-school for 

young ladies. (Ch. xviii.) 
Old Soldier, The. See Markleham, Mrs. 
Omer, Minnie. Daughter of Mr. Omer ; a pretty, good-natured 

girl, engaged to Mr. Joram. (Ch. ix, xxi, xxx, xxxii, 11.) 
Omer, Mr. A draper, tailor, haberdasher, undertaker, &c., at Yar- 
mouth ; a fat, short-winded, merry-looking little old man in black, 
with rusty little bunches of ribbons at the knees of his breeches, 
black stockings, and a broad-brimmed hat. (Ch. ix, xxi, xxx, 
xxxii, li.) 
Paragon, Mary Anne. A servant who keeps house for David 

Copperfield and Dora. (Ch. xliv.) 
Passnidge, Mr. A friend of Mr. Murdstone's. (Ch. ii.) 
Peggotty, Clara. Servant to Mrs. Copperfield, and nurse and 
friend to her son David ; a girl with no shape at all, and eyes so 
dark, that they seem to darken theb whole neighborhood in her face, 
and with cheeks and arms so hard and red, that the birds might 
^ peck them in preference to apples. Being very plump, whenever 
she makes any little exertion after she is dressed, some of the but- 
27 



314 8ri)e Bicfeens ISictfonarg. 

tons on the back of her gown fly oflf. After the death of her mis- 
tress, Peggotty marries Mr. Barkis, a carrier, who has long admired 
her ; but she never forgets her old love for David, whose house- 
keeper she finally becomes. (Ch. i-v, viii-x, xii, xiii, xvii, 
xix-xxiii, xxvii, xxx-xxxv, xxxvii, xliii, li, Iv, Ivii, lix, Ixii, Ixiv.) 
Peggotty, Mr. Daniel. A rough but kind-hearted and noble 
souled fisherman ; brother to Clara Peggotty. 

I had known Mr. Peggotty's house very well in my childhood; and I am surf 
I could not have been more charmed with it if it had been Aladdin's palace 
roc's egg. and all. It was an old black barge, or boat, high and dry on Yarmouth 
sands, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chimney. There was a delight- 
ful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there were little windows in 
it. It was beautifully clean, and as tidy as possible. Tliere were some lockers 
and boxes, and there was a table, and there was a Dutch clock, and there was a 
chest of drawers, and there was a tea-tray with a painting on it; and the tray 
was kept from tumbling down by a Bible ; and the tray, if it had tumbled down, 
would have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and a teapot that were 
grouped around the book. On the walls were colored pictures of Abraham in 
red going to sacrifice Isaac in blue, and of Daniel in yellow being cast into a den 
of green lions. Over the little mantel-shelf was a picture of the " Sarah Jane," 
lugger, built at Sunderland, with a real little wooden stern stuck on it, — a work 
of art combining composition with carpentry, which I had regarded in my child- 
hood as one of the most enviable possessions the world could afford. Mr. Peg- 
gotty, as honest a seafaring man as ever breathed, dealt in lobsters, crabs, and 
crawfish; and a heap of those creatures, in a state of wonderful conglomeration 
with one another, and never leaving off pinching whatever they laid hold of, 
were usually to be found in a little wooden outhouse, where the pots and kettles 
were kept. 

Mr. Peggotty's- nephew Ham and his adopted niece Emily, a beau- 
tiful young woman, — both members of his household, — are engaged 
to be married ; but, before the wedding-day arrives, Emily elopes 
with Steerforth, a brilliant, handsome, plausible fellow, who has suc- 
ceeded in winning her affections, and seducing her. She leaves a 
letter for Ham, which he gives to David Copperfield to read aloud. 

I remember a great wail and cry, and the women hanging about him, and we 
all standing in the room, — I with an open letter in my hand, which Ham had 
given me ; Mr. Peggotty with his vest torn open, his hair wild, his face and lips 
white, and blood trickling down his bosom (it had sprung from his mouth, I 
think). 

"Read it, sir; slow, please. I doen't know as I can understand." 

In the midst of the silence of death I read thus from the blotted letter Ham 
had given me, in Em'ly's hand, addressed to himself: — 

" • When you, who love me so much better than I ever have deserved, even 
when my mind was innocent, see this, I shall be far away. When I leave my dear 
home — my dear home — oh, my dear home I — in the morning ' " (the letter bore 
date on the previous night), '' ' it will be never to come back, unless he brings me 
back a lady. This will be found at night, many hours after, instead of me. For 



mercy's sake, teU uncle that I never loved him half so dear as now. Oh 1 don't 
remember you and I were ever to be married, but try to think as if I died when I 
was very little, and was buried somewhere. Pray Heaven that I am going away 
from, have compassion on my uncle 1 Be his comfort. Love some good girl, that 
will be what I was once to uncle, and that will be true to you, and worthy of you, 
and know no shame but me. God bless all I If he don't bring me back a lady 
and I don't pray for my own self, 1 '11 pray for all. My parting love to uncle I My 
last tears, and my last thanks, for uncle I ' " That was all. 

He stood, long after I had ceased to read, still looking at me. Slowly, at last, h« 
moved his eyes from my face, and cast them round the room. 

" Who 's the man ? I want to know his name." Ham glanced at me, and sud- 
denly I felt a shock. " Mas'r Davy, go out a bit, and let me tell him what I 
must. You doen't ought to hear it, sir." 

I sank down in a chair, and tried to utter some reply : but my tongue was fet- 
tered, and my sight was weak; for I felt that the man was my friend, the friend 
I had unhappily introduced there, — Steerforth, my old schoolfellow and my friend. 
" I want to know his name I " 

"• Mas'r Davy," exclaimed Ham in a broken voice, " it ain't no fault of yourn ; 
and I am far from laying of it to you : but it is your friend Steerforth, and 
he 's a damned villain I " 

Mr. Peggotty moved no more, until he seemed to wake all at once, and pulled 
down his rough coat from its peg in a corner. 

" Bear a hand with this I I 'm struck of a heap, and can't do it. Bear a hand 
and help me. Well ! Now give me that theer hat 1 " 
Ham asked him whither he was going. 

" I 'm a-going to seek my niece. I 'm a-going to seek my Em'ly. I 'm a-going, 
first, to stave in that theer boat as he gave me, and sink it where I would have 
drownded him, as I 'm a livin' soul, if I had had one thought of what was in him ! 
As he sat afore me in that boat, face to face, strike me down dead, but I'd have 
drownded him, and thought it right 1 I 'm a-going fur to seek my niece." 
" Where ? » 

" Anywhere I I 'm a-going to seek my niece through the wureld. I 'm a-going^ 
to find my poor niece in her shame, and bring her back wi' my comfort and for- 
giveness. No one stop me! I tell you I'm a-going to seek my niece I I'm 
a-going to seek her fur and wide I " 

Months pass; and Mr. Peggotty has been absent — no one knows 

where the whole time, when suddenly David encounters him in 

London, and learns the story of his wanderings. 

" You see, sir, when she was a child, she used to talk to me a deal about the 
sea, and about them coasts where the sea got to be dark blue, and to lay a-shin- 
ing and a-shining in the sun. When she was lost, I know'd in my mind as he 
would take her to them countries. I know'd in my mind as he 'd have told her 
wonders of 'em ; and how she was to be a lady theer; and how he first got her to 
listen to him along o' sech like. I went across channel to France, and landed theer 
as if I 'd fell down from the skies. I found out a English gentleman as Avas in 
authority, and told him I was going to seek my niece. He got me them papers as 
I wanted fur to carry me through, — I doen't rightly know how they 're called, — 
and he would have give me money; but that I was thankful to have no need on. 
I thank him kind for all he done, I 'm sure. I told him, best as I was able, what 
my gratitoode was, and went away through France fur to seek my niece." 
'"• Alone, and on foot ? " 



316 8r|)e Bfcltens Bictionatj. 

" Mostly afoot; sometimes in carts along with people going to market; some- 
times in empty coaches. Many mile a day afoot, and often with some poor sol- 
dier or another, travelling fur to see his friends. I could n't talk to him, nor he 
to me ; but we was company for one another, too, along the dusty roads. When I 
come to any town, I found the iuu, and waited about the yard till some one came 
by (some one mostly did) as know'd English. Then I told how that I was on my 
way to seek my niece ; and they told me what manner of gentlefolks was in the 
house, and I waited to see any as seemed like her, going in or out. When it 
warn't Em'ly, I went on agen. By little and little, when I come to a new village 
or that, among the poor people, I found they know'd about me. They would set 
me down at their cottage-doors, and give me what-not fur to eat and drink, and 
show me where to sleep. And many a woman, Mas'r Davy, as has had a daugh- 
ter about Em'ly's age, I 've found awaiting for me, at our Saviour's cross, outside 
the village, fur to do me sim'lar kindnesses. Some has had daughters as was 
dead ; and God only knows how good them mothers was to me I " 

I laid my trembling hand upon the hand he put before his face. «' Thank 'ee, 
sir I doen't take no notice." 

" At last I come to the sea. It warn't hard, you may suppose, for a seafaring 
man like me to work his way over to Italy. When I got theer, I wandered on as 
I had done afore. I got news of her being seen among them Swiss mountains, 
yonder. I made for them mountains, day and night. Ever so fur as I went, ever 
so fur them mountains seemed to shift away from me. But I come up with 'em, 
and I crossed 'em. I never doubted her I No! not a bit I On'y let her see my 
face : on'y let her heer my voice ; on'y let my stanning still afore her bring to her 
thoughts the home she had fled away from, and the child she had been, — and, 
if she had growed to be a royal lady, she 'd have fell down at my feet I I know'd 
it well ! I bought a country dress to put upon her. To put that dress upon her, 
and to cast off what she wore ; to take her on my arm again, and wander towards 
home ; to stop sometimes upon the road, and heal her bruised feet, and her worse 
bruised heart, — was all I thowt of now. But, Mas'r Davy, it warn't to be, — not 
yet 1 I was too late, and they was gone. Wheer, I could n't learn. Some said 
heer; some said theer. I travelled heer, and I travelled theer; but I found no 
Em'ly, and I travelled home." 

At last, however, Mr. Peggotty finds his niece, and emigrates 
with her to Australia. " No one can't reproach my darling in Aus- 
tralia," he says. " We will begin a new life over theer." (Ch. ii, 
iii, vii, X, xxi, xxii, xxx-xxxii, xl, xliii, xlvi, xlvii, 1, li, Ivii, Ixiii.) 
Peggotty, Ham. Nephew of Daniel Peggotty. He is engaged to 
little Emily ; but, on the eve of their marriage, she elopes with 
Steerforth. Years afterwards, he attempts, one night, to rescue some 
unfortunate passengers from a vessel wrecked in a great storm on 
Yarmouth beach. One of these passengers proves to be Steerforth, 
who is returning home from abroad. A mighty wave ingulfs them 
all ; and the wronged and wrong-doer perish together on the very 
scene which had witnessed the triumph of the one and the blighted 
hopes of the other. (Ch. ii, iii, vii, x, xxi, xxii, xxx-xxxii, xl, xlvi, 
Ii, Iv.) See Peggotty (Daniel), Steerfoeth (James). 



BabtXi ©oppertielti. 317 

Ouinion Mr. A fi-iend of Mr. Murdstone's, and chief manager 

^aXdstone and Grinby's warehouse, in London. Mr. Murdstone 

calls on IVIr. Quinion and Mr. Passnidge, at Lowestoft, in company 

with little David Copperfield, to whose mother he is on the pomt 

of being married. 

They both rolled on to their feet in an untidy sort of manner when we came 
i„, and said, " Halloo, Murdstone ! we thought you were dead. 

«' ■NTnt vpf " said Mr. Murdstone. . , ^ „* ^« 

<^ Ind who "this shaver ? » said one of the gentlemen, takmg hold of me. 
« That 's Davy," returned Mr. Murdstone. 
« Davy who ? » said the gentleman. " Jones ? " 

r;}JZrZT^Z::i. "ta.e o„e if you please. So.eboay. 

sharp." 

" Who is ? " asked the gentleman, laughing. 

I looked up quickly, being curious to know. 

« Only Brooks of Sbelfield," said Mr. Murdstone. 

I was quite relieved to find it was only Brooks of Sheffield, for at first 

'thCeTefmedr^e 'something very comical in the reputation of Mr. Brooks 
of Sheffield for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when he was men loned, 
and Mr Mu;d?tone was a g'o od deal amused also. After some laughing, the gen. 

"""fwhy,'! don't know that Brooks understands much about it at present," 
.epli:i^;.Murd.on.;;;in^^^ 

JZi:Z7i:2^Zt^^^^^^^ ^-^^^^ and, when the wine 

faJe he mad/me have a little with a bi.cuit, and, before I drank it, stand up 
t^d :a^^ConfuLn to Brooks of Sheffield I" The toast was received with 
git apl Jstand such hearty laughter that it -ade me laugh too; at which 
fhey laughed the more. In short, we quite enjoyed ourselves. 

(Ch. ii, x-xii.) 

Sharp Mr. First master at Salem House, Mr. Creakle's school, 
near London; a limp, delicate-looking gentleman, with a good deal 
of nose, and a way of carrying his head on one side, as if it were 
a little too heavy for him. (Ch. vi, vii, ix.) ^ 

Shepherd. Miss. A boarder at the Misses Nettmga 1 s Estabhsh- 
ment for Young Ladies, with whom David Copperfield is for a time 
deeply in love. She is a litle girl in a spencer, with a round lace, 
and curly flaxen hair. (Ch. xviii.) 

Spenlow. Miss Clarissa. The elder of two n>a,aeB s.ste.. of 
Mr. Spenlow, with whom his daughter Dora resides after his death. 



318 8r?)e 23fcftens JSictfonarj. 

They are both dry little ladies, upright in their carriage, formal, 
precise, composed, and quiet. (Ch. xxxviii, xxxix, xli-xliii, liii.) 
Spenlow, Miss Lavinia. Aunt to Dora, and sister to Miss Cla- 
rissa and Mr. Francis Spenlow. (Ch. xxxviii, xxxix, xli-xiiil, liii.) 

Miss Lavinia was an authority in affairs of the heart, by reason of there 
having anciently existed a certain Mr. Pidger, who played short whist, and was 
supposed to have been enamoured of her. My private opinion is, that this was 
entirely a gratuitous assumption, and that Pidger was altogether innocent of 
any such sentiments, to which he had never given any sort of expression, that 
I could ever hear of. Both Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa had a superstition, 
however, that he would have declared his passion, if he had not been cut short 
in his youth (at about sixty) by over-drinking his constitution, and overdoing 
an attempt to set it right again by swilling Bath water. They had a lurking 
suspicion even, that he died of secret love ; though I must say there was a 
picture of him in the house, with a damask nose which concealment did not 
appear to have ever preyed upon. 

Spenlow, Miss Dora. Only daughter of Mr. Spenlow; after- 
wards the " child-wife " of David Copperfield ; a timid, trustful, sen- 
sitive, artless little beauty, who is not much more than a plaything, 
and who dies young. (Ch. xxvi, xxxiii, xxxv, xxxvii, xxxviii, xli- 
xliv, xlviii, 1-liii.) See Copperfield, David ; also p. 544. 

Spenlow, Mr. Francis. One of the firm of Spenlow and Jorkins 
(proctors in Doctor's Commons), and the father of Dora, who is 
afterwards David Copperfield's wife. (Ch. xxiii, xxvi, xxix, xxxiii, 
xxxv, xxxviii.) See Jorkins, Mr. 

He was a little light-haired gentleman, with undeniable boots, and the stiffest 
of white cravats and shirt-collars. He was buttoned up mighty trim and tight, 
and must have taken a great deal of pains with his whiskers, which were accu- 
rately curled. . . . He was got up with such care, and was so stiflf, that he could 
hardly bend himself; being obliged, when he glanced at some papers on his 
desk, after sitting down in his chair, to move his whole body from the bottom 
of his spine, like Punch. 

Spiker, Mr. Henry. A guest at a party given by Mr. and Mrs. 
Waterbrook. He is solicitor to somebody or something remotely 
connected with the treasury, and is so cold a man, that his head, 
instead of being gray, seems to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. (Ch. 

XXV.) 

Spiker, Mrs. Henry. His wife ; a very awful lady, looking like 
a near relation of Hamlet's, — say his aunt. (Ch. xxv.) - 

Steerforth, James. A schoolfellow and friend of David Copper- 
field's ; a young man of great personal attractions and the most 
easy and engaging manners. Always adapting himself readily to 
the society he happens to be in, he has no trouble in securing the 



3IBa\)iti €oppertfelTi. 319 

regard and confidence of simple-hearted Mr. Peggotty, Avhose 
humble house he visits with David. Here he meets Mr. Peggotty s 
niece and adopted daughter, Emily, -a beautiful young woman, be- 
trothed to her cousin Ham, - and deliberately sets to work to effect 
her ruin. In this he is successful ; and, on the eve of her intended 
marria<.e, she consents to elope with him. They live abroad for 
some trme; but he finally tires of her, and, after insultingly propos- 
ino- that she should marry his valet, a detestable scoundrel, cruelly 
desserts her. Not long after, he sets sail for England. 

FThrou^h] a murky confusion of flying clouds tossed up into most remarkable 
heSs thetild moon's eemed to plunge headlong, as if, in a dread ^-turbance ox 
SawB of nature, she had lost her way. There had been a wmd all day; and it 
was r5^.g then, with an extraordinary great sound. In another hour, it had much 
increased and the sky was more overcast, and it blew hard. 

But as the night advanced, it came on to blow harder and harder. Many times 
m^he dark part of the night (it was then late in September), we were in serious 
anprehen ion that the coach would be blown over; and, when the day broke, the 
wTd blew harder, and still harder. I had been in Yarmouth when the seamen 
Td it blew great guns; but I had never known the like of this, or any thing 

'"rtvf X5ed on, nearer and nearer to the sea, from which this mighty wind 
wat b7owhig dead on shore, its force became more and more terrxfic. When we 
Tame wThn sight of the sea, the waves on the horizon, seen, at intervals above 
thrronng abyss, were like glimpses of another shore with towers and buildings, 
men at fast we got into the town, the people came out to their doors, making a 
wonder of the mail that had come through such a storm. . . ^^ 

The tremendous sea itself, when I could find pause to look at it, n the agitation 
of the blLd ng wind, the flying stones and sand, and the awful noise confounded 
me As the lifgh walery walls came rolling in, and tumbled into surf, I seemed to 
see a rending and upheaving of all nature. ... . , .^ i x •„ 

When I had washed and dressed, and tried to sleep (but in vain^ it was late in 
the afternoon. I had not sat five minutes by the coffee-room fire, when the waiter, 
comtg to stir it, told me that two colliers had gone down, with all hands, a few 
mTes off ; and that some other ships had been seen laboring hard in the Roads 
Tnd trying, in great distress, to keep off shore. '^ Mercy on them, and on all poor 
sailors » said he, •' if we had another night like the last I " 

tcmild not eat; I could not sH still ; I could not continue steadfas to any thmg^ 
Mv dinner went away almost untasted, and I tried to refresh myself with a glass 
fr two of wine. In vain. I walked to and fro; tried to read an old gazetteer; 
Ustened to the awful noises ; looked at faces, scenes, and figures in the fire. At 
length the ticking of the undisturbed clock on the wall tormented me to that 
degree, that I resolved to go to bed. ... , ^. ^ „„n;«„ «♦ mxr 

I was aroused at eight or nine o'clock by some one knocking and calling at my 

door. 

« What is the matter ? " 
" A wreck ! close by I " 

r^r^rhooneffrl Spain or Portugal, laden with fruit and wine Make haste, 
sir, if you want to see her I It 's thought down on the beach she 'U go to pieces 
every moment." 



320 CJc Bfckens Bfctfonarg. 

I wrapped myself in my clothes as quickly as I could, and ran into the street, 
where numbers of people were before me ; all running in one direction, — to the 
beach. I ran the same way, outstripping a good many, and soon came facing the 
wild sea. Every appearance it had before presented bore the expression of being 
swelled ; and the height to which the breakers rose, and bore one another down, 
and rolled in in interminable hosts, was most appalling. 

In the difficulty of hearing any thing but wind and waves, and in the crowd, 
and the unspeakable confusion, and my first breathless efforts to stand against 
the weather, I was so confused, that I looked out to sea for the wreck, and saw 
nothing but the foaming heads of the great waves. 

A boatman laid a hand upon my arm, and pointed. Then I saw it, — close in 
upon us. 

One mast was broken short off, six or eight feet from the deck, and lay over the 
side, entangled in a maze of sail and rigging ; and all that ruin, as the ship rolled 
and beat, — which she did with a violence quite inconceivable, — beat the side as 
if it would stave it in. Some efforts were being made to cut this portion of the 
wreck away ; for as the ship, which was broadside on, turned towards us in her 
rolling, I plainly descried her people at work with axes, — especially one active 
figure with long curling hair. But a great cry, audible even above the wind and 
water, rose from the shore : the sea, sweeping over the wreck, made a clean breach, 
and carried men, spars, casks, planks, bulwarks, heaps of such toys, into the boil- 
ing surge. 

The second mast was yet standing, with the rags of a sail, and a wild confusion 
of broken cordage, flapping to and fro. " The ship had struck once," the same boat- 
man said, " and then lifted in, and struck again." I understood him to add that she 
was parting amidships. As he spoke, there was another great cry of pity from 
the beach. Four men arose with the wreck out of the deep, clinging to the rig- 
ging of the remaining mast; uppermost, the active figure with the curling hair. 

There was a bell on board; and, as the ship rolled and dashed, this bell rang; 
and its sound, the knell of those unhappy men, was borne towards us on the 
wind. Again we lost her, and again she rose. Two of the four men were gone. 

I noticed that some new sensation moved the people on the beach ; and I saw 
them part, and Ham come breaking through them to the front. 

Instantly I ran to him ; for I divined that he meant to wade off with a rope. I 
held him back with both arms, and implored the men not to listen to him, not to 
let him stir from off that sand. 

Another cry arose, and we saw the cruel sail, with blow on blow, beat off the 
lower of the two men, and fly up in triumph round the active figure left alone upon 
the mast. Against such a sight, and against such determination as tliat of the 
calmly desperate man, who was already accustomed to lead half the people pres- 
ent, I might as hopefully have entreated the wind. 

I was swept away to some distance, where the people around me made me 
stay; urging, as I confusedly perceived, that he was bent on going, with help or 
without, and that I should endanger the precautions for his safety by troubling 
those with whom they rested. I saw hurry on the beach, and men running 
with ropes, and penetrating into a circle of figures that hid him from me. Then I 
saw him standing alone, in a seaman's frock and trousers, a rope in his hand, 
another round his body, and several of the best men holding to the latter. 

The wreck was breaking up. I saw that she was parting in the middle, and that 
the life of the solitary man upon the mast hung by a thread. He had a singular 
red cap on, not like a sailor's cap, but of a finer color; and as the few planks 
between him and destruction rolled and bulged, and as his death-knell rung, he 



/ JBabftr ©oppetffelU. 321 

' was seen by all of us to wave this cap. I saw him do it now, and thought I was 
going distracted, when his action brought an old remembrance to my mind of a 
once dear friend, — the once dear friend, — Steerforth. 

Ham watched the sea until there was a great retiring wave ; when he dashed 
in after it, and in a moment was buflfeting with the water, rising with the hills, 
falling with the valleys, lost beneath the foam, borne in towards the shore, borne 
on towards the ship. 

At length he neared the wreck. He was so near, that, with one more of his 
vigorous strokes, he would be clinging to it, when a high, green, vast hillside of 
water moving on shoreward from beyond the ship, he seemed to leap up into it 
with a mighty bound, — and the ship was gone 1 

They drew him to my very feet, — insensible, dead. He was carried to the 
nearest house, and every means of restoration was tried ; but he had been beaten 
to death by the great wave, and his generous heart was stilled forever. 

As I sat beside the bed, when hope was abandoned, and all was done, a fisher- 
man who had known me when Emily and I were children, and ever since, whis« 
pered my name at the door. 

*' Sir, will you come over yonder ? " 

The old remembrance that had been recalled to me was in his look; and I 
asked him, " Has a body come ashore ?" 

"Yes." 

"Do I know it?" 

He answered nothing ; but he led me to the shore. And on that part of it 
where she and I had looked for shells, two children, — on that part of it where 
some lighter fragments of the old boat, blown down last night, had been scat- 
tered by the wind; among the ruins of the home he had wronged, — I saw 
him lying with his head upon his arm, as I had often seen him lie at school. 

(Ch. vi, vii, ix, xix-xxv, xxviii, xxix, xxxi, Iv.) 

Steerforth, Mrs. Mother of James Steerforth ; an elderly lady, 
with a proud carriage and a handsome face, entirely devoted to 
her son, but estranged from him at last ; both of them being im- 
perious and obstinate. (Ch. xx, xxi, xxiv, xxix, xxxii, xxxvi, 
xlvi, Ivi, Ixiv.) 

Strong, Doctor. Master of a school at Canterbury attended by 
David Copperfield ; a quiet, amiable old gentleman, who has mar- 
ried a young lady many years his junior. 

Some of the higher scholars boarded in the doctor's house, and, through them, 
I learned at second-hand some particulars of the doctor's history, — as how he 
had not been married twelve months to the beautiful young lady I had seen in 
the study, whom he had married for love, as she had not a sixpence, and had 
a world of poor relations (so our fellows said) ready to swarm the doctor out 
of house and home; also how the doctor's cogitating manner was attributa- 
ble to his being always engaged in looking out for Greek roots . . . with a view 
to a new dictionary which he had in contemplation. Adams, our head boy, who 
had a turn for mathematics, had made a calculation, I was informed, of the 
time this dictionary would take in completing, on the doctor's plan and at the 
doctor's rate of going. He considered that it might be done in one thousand 
six hundred and forty-nine years, counting from the doctor s last or sixty-sec* 
ond birthday. 



322 8ri)e IBlctzvLs ©fctionars. 

The doctor's wife has a cousin, Jack Maldon, who is a pensioner 
on the bounty of her husband, and who attempts to make love 
to her, even while enjoying the hospitality of her husband's 
house^ Through very shame, Mrs. Strong does not mention this ; 
but there are ready and meddlesome tongues to hint suspicion 
to the kind old man, and to make him miserable. His faith in his 
wife never falters, however; and, to prove it, he makes a will, in 
which he leaves his property unconditionally to her. Hearing of 
this, and knowing that he has heard a magnified story of her inti- 
macy with her cousin, she resolves to go to her husband, and frankly 
explain all. This she does, much to the confusion of those who 
have hoped to separate them, and to the complete satisfaction of her 
husband. IVIrs. Strong had formerly been attached to Mr. Jack 
Maldon ; but seeing his course, and having principles and senti- 
ments the exact opposite of his, she concludes, that " there is no 
disparity in marriage like un suitability of mind and purpose," and 
she thanks Heaven for the day she wedded one whom she can 
esteem and respect and love altogether. (Ch. xvi, xvii, xix, xxxvi, 
xxxix, xlii, xlv, Ixii, Ixiv.) 

Strong, Mrs. Annie. The wife of Doctor Strong, and daughter 
of ]VIrs. Markleham (the Old Soldier). She is a beautiful woman, 
much her husband's junior. (Ch. xvi, xix, xxxvi, xlii, xlv, Ixii, 
Ixiv.) See Strong, Doctor. 

Tiffey, Mr. An old clerk in the office of Spenlow and Jorkins ; a 
little dry man, wearing a stiflf brown wig that looks as if it were 
made of gingerbread. (Ch. xxiii, xxvi, xxxiii, xxxv, xxxviii.) 

Tipp. A carman employed in Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse. 
(Ch. xi, xii.) 

Traddles, Thomas. A schoolmate of David Copperfield's at Sa- 
lem House (Mr. Creakle's school). 

Poor Traddles I In a tight sky-blue suit, that made his arms and legs like Ger- 
man sausages or roly-poly puddings, he was the merriest and most miserable 
of all the boys. He was always being caned, — I think he was caued every day 
that half-year, except one holiday Monday, when he was only rulered on both 
hands, — and was always going to write to his uncle about it, and never did. 
After laying his head on the desk for a little while, he would clteer up, somehow, 
begin to laugh again, and draw skeletons all over his slate before his eyes were 
dry. I used, at first, to wonder what comfort 1 raddles found in drawing skele- 
tons, and for some time looked upon him as a sort of hermit, who reminded 
himself, by those symbols of mortality, that caning could n't last forever. But 
I believe he only did it because they were easy, and did n't want any features. 

He was very honorable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty in the boys 
to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several occasions, and particu- 



ISabfTK ©oppcrffelU. 323 

'.arly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, and the beadle thought it was Trad- 
dies, and took him out. I see him now, going away in custody, despised by th? 
congregation. He never said who was the real offender, though he smarted for it 
next day, and was imprisoned so many hours, that he came forth with a whole 
churchyardful of skeletons swarming all over his Latin dictionary. But he had 
his reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles ; and we 
all felt that to be the highest praise. 

Years afterwards, David meets Traddles in London, and finds him 
a shy, steady, but agreeable and good-natured young man, with a comic 
head of hair, and eyes rather wide open, which give him a surprised 
look, — not to say a hearth-broomy kind of expression. Pie is read- 
hig for the bar, and fighting his way on in the world against difficul- 
ties. He tells David, that, at his uncle's death, he got but fifty 
pounds ; though he had expected to be handsomely remembered in his 
will. 

" I had never been brought up to any profession, and at first I was at a loss what 
to do for myself. However, I began, with the assistance of the son of a profes- 
sional man, who had been to Salem House, — Yawler, with his nose on one side. 
Do you lecollect him ? " 

No. He had not been there with me. All the noses were straight, in my day. 

" It don't matter," said Traddles. " I began, by means of his assistance, to 
copy law-v.u-itings. That did n't answer very well ; and then I began to state cases 
for them, and make abstracts, and do that sort of work ; for I am a plodding kind of 
ffllow, Copperfield, and had learned the way of doing such things pithily. Well. 
That put it in my head to enter myself as a law-student; and that ran away with 
all that was left of the tifty pounds. Yawler recommended me to one or two other 
OiSces, however, — Mr. Waterbrook's for one, — and I got a good many jobs. I 
was fortunate enough, too, to become acquainted with a person in the iiublishing 
way, who was getting up an encyclopaedia, and he set me to work ; and, indeed " 
(glancing at his table), '' I am at work for him at this minute. I am not a bad 
compiler, Copperfield," said Traddles, preserving the same air of cheerful confi- 
dence in all he said; " but I have no invention at all: not a particle. I suppose 
there never was a young man with less originality than I have." 

As Traddles seemed to expect that I should assent to this as a matter of course, 
I nodded ; and he went on with the same sprightly patience — I can find no better 
expression — as before. 

" So, by little and little, and not living high, I managed to scrape up the hun- 
dred pounds at last," said Traddles : " and, thank Heaven ! that 's paid; though it 
was — though it certainly was " — said Traddles, wincing again as if he had had 
another tooth out, " a pull. I am living by the sort of work I have mentioned, 
still, and I hope, one of these days, to get connected with some newspaper; which 
would almost be the making of my fortune. Now, Copperfield, you are so exactly 
what you used to be, with that agreeable face, and it 's so pleasant to see you, that 
I sha'n't conceal any thing. Therefore you must know that I am engaged." 

Engaged ! O Dora I 

" She is a curate's daughter," said Traddles_, " one of ten, down in Devonshire. 
Yes." For he saw me glance, involuntarily, at the prospect on the inkstand. 
" That 's the church I You come round here, to the left, out of this gate," tracing 
his finger along the inkstand; " and exactly where I hold this pen there stands the 



324 2C!)e JDicfeens Bfctionarg. 

house, facing, you understand, towards the church. . . . She is such a dear 
girl I " ..." a little older than me, but the dearest girl ! I told you I was 
going out of town ? I have been down there. I walked there, and I walked 
back, and I had the most delightful time I I dare say ours is likely to be a rather 
long engagement; but our motto is, 'Wait and hope.' "We always say that. 
' "Wait and hope,' we always say. And she would wait, Copperfield, till she was 
sixty — any age you can mention — for me." 

Traddles rose from his chair, and, with a triumphant smile, put his hand upon 
the white cloth I had observed. 

'* However," he said, '' it 's not that we have n't made a beginning towards 
housekeeping. No, no : we have begun. We must get on by degrees; but we 
have begun. Here," drawing the cloth off with great pride and care, '' are two 
pieces of furniture to commence with. This flower-pot and stand she bought 
herself. You put that in a parlor- window," said Traddles, falling a little back 
from it to survey it with the greater admiration, " with a plant in it, and — and 
there you are I This little round table with the marble top (it 's two feet ten in 
circumference) I bought. You want to lay a book down, you know, or somebody 
comes to see you or your wife, and wants a place to stand a cup of tea upon, 
and — and there you are again I " said Traddles. " It 's an admirable piece of 
workmanship, firm as a rock ! " 

I praised them both highly, and Traddles replaced the covering as carefully 
as he had removed it. 

"It's not a great deal towards tlie furnishing," said Traddles; "but it's 
something. The table-cloths and pillow-cases, and articles of that kind, are 
what discourage me most, Copperfield. So does the ironmongery, candle- 
boxes, and gridirons, and that sort of necessaries ; because those things tell, 
and mount up. However, ' wait and hope I ' And I assure you she 's the dear- 
est girl I " 

" I am quite certain of it," said I. 

" In the mean time," said Traddles, coming back to his chair, " and this is the 
end of my prosing about myself, I get on as well as I can. I don't make much; 
but I don't spend mucli." 

In due time, Traddles is married, and, getting on by degrees in 
his profession, at last accumulates a competence, becomes a judge, 
and is honored and esteemed by all who know him. (Ch. vi, vii, ix, 
XXV, xxvii, xxviii, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxviii, xli, xliii, xliv, xlviii, xlix, 
li, liv, Ivii-lix, Ixi, Ixii, Ixiv.) See p. 545. 
rrotwood, Miss Betsey. The great-aunt of David Copper- 
field ; an austere, hard-ftivored, and eccentric, but thoroughly kind- 
hearted woman. David's father had once been a favorite of hers, 
but had mortally oflfended by marrying " a wax doll." On the 
occasion of the birth of his posthumous son, she pays his widow a 
visit for the first time. Finding Mrs. Copperfield quite ill, she im- 
mediately proceeds to take charge of the house, and frightens 
everybody with her odd manners and abrupt speeches. 

" I am all in a tremble," faltered my mother. '* I don't know what 'a the 
matter. I shall die, I am sure 1 " 

" No, no, no I " said Miss Betsey. " Have some tea,'* 



BabfT» <a:oppeicficltr, 325 

"Oh, dear me, dear me! Do you think it wiU do me any good?" cried my 
mother in a helpless manner. 

" Of course, it will," said Miss Betsey. "It 's nothing but fancy. What do 

rou call your girl ? " . xi 

" I don't know that it wUl be a girl, yet, ma'am," said my mother innocently. 
"Bless the baby !" exclaimed Miss Betsey, unconsciously quoting the second 
entiment of the pincushion in the drawer up stairs, but applying it to my mother, 
istead of me. " I don't mean that. I mean your servant." 
" Peggotty," said my mother. 

"Peggottyl" repeated Miss Betsey with some indignation. "Do you mean 
,o say, chUd, that any human being has gone into a Christian church, and got 
herself named Peggotty ? " „^^ 

"It 's her surname,'' said my mother faintly. " Mr. Copperfield called her 
by it, because her Christian name was the same as mine." 

''Here, Peggottyl" cried Miss Betsey, opening the parlor-door. "Tea. 
Your mistress is a little unwell. Don't dawdle." 

Having issued this mandate with as much potentiality as if she had been a 
recognized authority in the house ever since it had been a house, and having 
looked out to confront the amazed Peggotty coming along the passage with a can- 
dle at the sound of a strange voice, Miss Betsey shut the door again, and sat down 
as before,- with her feet on the fender, the skirt of her dress tucked up, and her 
hands folded on one knee. 

" You were speaking about its being a girl," said Miss Betsey. " I have no 
doubt it will be a girl. I have a presentiment that it must be a girl. Now, child, 
from the moment of the birth of this girl " — 

" Perhaps boy," my mother took the liberty of putting in. 

" I tell you I have a presentiment that it must be a girl," returned Miss Betsey. 
" Don't contradict. From the moment of this girl's birth, child, I intend to be her 
friend. I intend to be her godmother, and I beg you '11 call her Betsey Trotwood 
Copperfield. There must be no mistakes in life with this Betsey Trotwood. There 
must be no trifling with her affections, poor dear I .She must be well brought up, 
and well guarded from reposing any foolish confidences where they are not de- 
served. I must make that my care." 

When the child is born, Mr. Chillip, the attending physician, de- 
scends to the room where Miss Trotwood is waiting, and accosts her 
thus : — 

" Well, ma'am, I am happy to congratulate you." 
" What upon ? " said my aunt sharply. 

Mr. Chillip was fluttered ... by the extreme severity of my aunt's manner: 
so he made her a little bow, and gave her a little smile, to mollify her. 

" Mercy on the man, what 's he doing ! " cried my aunt impatiently. " Can't he 

1 peak ? " 

" Be calm, my dear ma'am," said Mr. Chillip in his softest accents. " There is 
nolonger any occasion for uneasiness, ma'am. Becalm." 

It has since been considered almost a miracle that my aunt did n't shake him, 
and shake what he had to say out of him. She only shook her own head at him, 
but in a way that made him quail. 

" Well, ma'am," resumed Mr. Chillip, as soon as he had courage, " I am happy 
to congratulate you. All is now over, ma'am, and well over." 

During the five minutes or so that Mr. Chillip devoted to the delivery of thia 
Dration, my aunt eyed him narrowly. 
28 



326 2CI)e Bfcfeens iBictionarg. 

" How is she ? " said my aunt, folding her arms, with her bonnet still tied on one 
of them. 

••Well, ma'am, she will soon be quite comfortable, I hope," returned Mr. 
Chillip, — ••quite as comfortable as we can expect a young mother to be under 
these melancholy domestic circumstances. There cannot be any objection to your 
seeing her presently, ma'am. It may do her good." 

" And she — how is she ? " said my aunt sharply. 

Mr. Chillip laid his head a little more on one side, and looked at my aunt like 
an amiable bird. 

'• The baby," said my aunt — " how is she ? " 

" Ma'am," returned Mr. Chillip, " I apprehended you had known. It 's a 
boy." 

My aunt said never a word, but took her bonnet by the strings, in the manner 
of a sh'ug, aimed a blow at Mr. Chillip's head with it, put it on bent, walked out, 
and never came back. She vanished like a discontented fairy, or like one of 
those supernatural beings whom it was popularly supposed I was entitled to see; 
and never came back any more. 

After the death of his mother, David runs away from the warehouse, 
in London, where his step-father has placed him in a menial position, 
to seek the aunt of whom he has often heard, resolved upon trying to 
soften her heart, and, if need be, to apologize for not having been born 
a girl. He arrives at last in Dover, ragged, footsore, and weary ; ascer- 
tains the way to his aunt's house ; and, on reaching it, sees a figure 
in the garden, which he knows must be that of his kinswoman. 

" Go away I " said Miss Betsey, shaking her head, and making a distant chop in 
the air with her knife. '* Go along I No boys here." 

I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as she marched to a corner of her gar- 
den, and stooped to dig up some little root there. Then, without a scrap of courage, 
but with a great deal of desperation, I went softly in and stood beside her, touching 
her with my finger. 

" If you please, ma'am," I began. 

She started, and looked up. 

" If you please, aunt." 

" Eh ? " exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I have never heard 
approached. 

" If you ijlease, aunt, I am your nephew." 

" Oh, Lord ! " said my aunt. And sat flat down in the garden-path. 

" I am David Copperfield of Blunderstone, in Suffolk, — where you came on the 
night when I was born, and saw my dear mamma. I have been very unhappy 
since she died. I have been slighted, and taught nothing, and thrown upon my- 
self, and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away to 3'ou. I was robbed 
at first setting out, and have walked all the way, and have never slept in a bed 
since I began the journey." Here my self-support gave way all at once; and with 
a movement of my hands intended to show her my ragged state, and call it 
to witness tliat I had suffered something, I broke into a passion of crying which I • 
suppose had been pent up within me all the week. 

My aunt, with every sort of expression but wonder discharged from her counte- 
nance, sat on the gravel, staring at me, until I began to cry; when she got up in a 
great hurry, collared me, and took me into the parlor. Her first proceeding there 



3I9abiti <2i:opperfieltr. 327 

was to unlock a tall press, bring out several bottles, and pour some of the con- 
tents of each into ray mouth. I think they must have been taken out at ran- 
dom ; for I am sure I tasted aniseed-water, anchovy-sauce, and salad-dressing. 
When she had administered these restoratives, as I was still quite hysterical, 
and unable to control my sobs, she put me on the sofa, with a shawl under my 
head, and the handkerchief from her own head under my feet, lest I should 
sully the cover ;. and then sitting herself down behind the green fan or screen 
I have already mentioned, so that I could not see her face, ejaculated at inter- 
vals, " Mercy on us I " letting those exclamations off like minute-guns. 

After a time, recovering from her astonishment, she begins to 
consider what she shall do with him, and determines, as a neces- 
sary preliminary, to have him well washed. While the bath is 
heating, she becomes suddenly rigid with indignation, and calls out, 
" Janet ! Donkeys 1 " upon which David, to his great surprise, sees 
his aunt and her servant-girl rush out doors, and drive off several 
donkeys and small boys from the green in front of the house. This, 
he finds, is regularly repeated every hour during the day, and every 
day during the week, sometimes resulting in a hand-to-hand conflict 
between his aunt and the bigger boys, but in which Miss Betsey 
always came out victorious. 

Mr. Murdstone, learning the whereabouts of his step-son, calls on 
Miss Trotwood, and informs her, that, if she puts any obstacles in 
the way of his taking the lad home, his doors will be forever shut 
against him. David begs to stay with his aunt, and she tells Mr. 
Murdstone that he can go as soon as he likes, and she will take her 
chance with the boy. Adopting IDavid as her son, she renames 
him Trotwood Copperfield ; sends him to an excellent school ; and 
afterwards articles him to Spenlow and Jorkins, proctors, London. 
Finding a new and worthy object for her affection and care, her 
temper softens by degrees ; her oddities of manner diminish ; and 
her solid worth and goodness of heart become more conspicuous 
from year to year. (Ch. ii, xiii-xv, xvii, xix, xxiii-xxv, xxxvii-xl, 
xliii-xlv, xlvii-xlix,^ li-lv, Ivii, lix, Ix, Ixiv.) See Babley, Mr. 
Richard. 

Trotwood, Husband of Miss Betsey. A handsome man, 
younger than Miss Betsey, whom he treats so falsely, ungratefully, 
and cruelly, that she separates from him, and resumes her maiden 
name. He marries another woman; becomes an adventurer, a 
gambler, and a cheat ; and finally sinks into the lowest depths of 
degradation. (Ch. ii, xvii, xxiii, xlvii, Iv.) 

Tungay. Lodge-keeper and tool of Mr. Creakle, at Salem House ; 
a stout man with a bull-neck, a wooden leg, a surly face, overhanging 



328 2ri)e Bicltens ©ictfonars. 

temples, and his hair cut close all round his head. (Ch. v- 
vii.) 

"Walker, Mick. A boy employed at Murdstone and Grinby's, 
with three or four others (including David Copperfield), to rinse out 
bottles, cork and label them, &c. (Ch. xi, xii.) See p. 291. 

"Waterbrook, Mr. Mr. Wickfield's agent in London ; a middle- 
aged gentleman with a short throat and a good deal of shirt-collar, 
who only wants a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. 
(Ch. XXV.) 

Waterbrook, Mrs. His wife ; a woman who affects to be very 
genteel ; likes to talk about the aristocracy ; and maintains, that, if 
she has a weakness, it is " blood." (Ch. xxv.) 

"Wickfield, Agnes. Daughter and housekeeper of IVIr. Wick- 
field, and friend and counsellor of David Copperfield, whose second 
wife she becomes after the death of Dora. (Ch. xv-xix, xxiv, 
xxxiv, XXXV, xxxix, xlii, xliii, lii-liv, Ivii, Iviii, Ix, Ixii-lxiv.) See 
Copperfield, David. 

"Wickfield. Mr. A lawyer at Canterbury, and the agent and 
friend of Miss Betsey Trotwood. He is nearly ruined by Uriah 
Heep (at first a clerk in his office, and afterwards his partner), 
who by adroit management, the falsification of facts, and various 
malpractices, acquires a complete ascendency over him, and obtains 
control of all his property ; but in the end Uriah's machinations are 
foiled, and his rascality exposed, by Mr. Micawber, whom he has 
endeavored to make use of as an instrument to assist in the ac- 
complishment of his dishonest purposes. (Ch. xv, xvii, xix, xxxv, 
xxxix, xlii, lii, liv, Ix.) 

William. A W3,iter in an inn at Yarmouth, who wheedles little 
David Copperfield out of the greater part of his dinner. (Ch. v.) 

William. Driver of the Canterbury coach. (Ch. xix.) 



J9ai)iTi ©oppetfielti. 329 



PBINOIPAL mCIBENTS. 

CiiAPTEB I. Mrs. Copperfleld. sitting by the flre, is startled ^^ ^f ^'^^'Tnf Ba^m 
BeSyTro^wood; their conversation upon the late Mr. Copperfleld, &c^; b^^-t^ ^^ f 7;^' 
ucibt;^ Aiui""-"""' -noTTiri rplntps some of the incidents 01 Ills 

and sudden disappearance of M.ss ^e^=y-- "■ J'^^^'^J'^^^^^^^^ „,.„ Mrs. 

CpefaeMralnJirrSr^Mr' M^str B^^^^^ 
S:;S:"an'drep«r.smsconversa.ion .0 his ,noth«^^^^^^^^^^^ 

r°tun mue'^'.l^rtrr.r^^^^^^^^ --" .o »;. Mu.ds.one. 

-7v urdsfone '.a' esDavld In ha,\d ; arrival of Miss Jane Murds.onewljo assumes 

.hellieeof liousekeener; David falls Into disgrace oyer Ws lessons; lie is beaten 6y Mr. 
Murds°™e wh° ehltdhebites; he Is Imprisoned in hi, room for five ^f,'- - ^.P""*; 
LCrhensentfromhometoschooL-V. DaviasendswordtoPeggotty^^^^^^ 

Lc:i.rmrr.rofirHrst';= 
r.i:rLr;r:rdr r„r ;fer st^i^^s^H^ 

s ho;i, and are introduced to Steerforth. - VIII. David goes ^^^^fj, ^^^^^^^^r ^1-^ 
Barkis infonxis him he is expecting an answer from Peggotty "^ *^^^^.'^^^^^^^^^^ 
stone and his sister, David spends a pleasant evenmg with his mother and reggotty, 
David leads a wretched life during the holidays, and goes back to school.-IX. He re- 
^cTv s the newTof his mother's death ; returning home, he mal.es the -^^-^^^^^^l^^l^; 
Omer; Peggotty relates to David the circumstances of his mother's "^^th^-^. Peggotty 
receTves warning from Miss Murdstone, and she and David go agam *« 7^"^^7.*^ ' .^^^ 

taken to the Debtors ^'r Vtt He is released from confinement, and decides to leave 

£^dTnr.7hrf/;^rrB^v^d^e.r.L:i:™n away from ^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Bcek his aunt; his adventures and misfortunes on the road from London to Dover, xiu. 

S:U::ducesW.ftoMissBet.y;^^ood;^ 

sti::^js::si;ss^^f"rs o^^:; it, miss Bot.y .us Dav. ^ 

Sk's story; she is visited by Mr. and Miss Murdstone, who come to f jj^-^^;^' ^^_^ 
fakes Mr Dick's advice, and decides to keep him, giving him the ^^™« ^^ ^^°^7^°^^. " 
xTcavids taken to Canterbury by his aunt, where he is to be put to school ; he makes 
mVa?auaintance of Mr. Wickfleld and Agnes, with whom he is to board, and also of Uriah 
Heen'^-XVrD^^^^^ Strong's; he hears a conversation be ween 

Srsir^d Mr. Wickfleld about Mr. Jack Maldon, and afterwards sees that gentleman 

SEr^orthrv^racrcr;';^:^^^^ 
rSSTerfrr.rtrsr;:fTer=rr^^^^^^^^ 

Trotwofd Mr iSfsmTes friends with everybody, David tutes tea with UrUh and ,. 

--. ferrh?;:r rr::,rj^rr Sdir^^^^^^^^^^^ 

28* 



330 STJe Bfcfecns Bictfonarg. 

Influence which Uriah Heep is gaining over Mr. "Wickfleld ; he also hears of the illness and 
probable return of Mr. JackMaldon; David meets Steerforth in London. — XX. David goes 
home ^vith Steerforth ; his reception by Mrs. Steerforth and Rosa Dartle. —XXI. Ilis impres- 
sions of Littimcr; Steerforth accompanies David to Yarmouth; Peggotty's joy at seeing 
David ; Barkis grows a '* little near ; " David and Steerforth go to Mr. Peggotty's, and hear 
from him the story of the engagement of Llam and little Em'ly. — XXII. Steerforth shows 
David his gloomy side ; Steerforth buys a boat, which he calls " The Little Em'ly ; " they 
discover JIartha following Ham and Emily ; the " volatile " Miss Mowcher makes her ap- 
pearance at the inn; they tell her the story of Emily; Emily befriends Martha, and sheds 
tears at the thought of her own un worthiness. — XXIII. David consults Steerforth in 
regard to his choice of a profession, and decides to become a proctor; Miss Betsey and 
David, on the way to Doctors' Commons, encounter the strange man who has such an 
effect upon her; David is articled to Spenlow and Jorkins, and makes his first visit to 
court; he takes the lodgings at Mrs. Crupp's. — XXIV. He gives a supper at his lodgings 
to Steerforth and his friends, becomes intoxicated, and goes in that condition to the theatre, 
where he meets Agnes. — XXV. His remorse on the following day ; by Agnes's invitation 
he calls upon her, and she warns him against Steerforth ; David meets Traddles at the 
dinner-party at Mr. Waterbrook's; David takes Uriah Heep home with him, and hears 
from him the particulars of the change in his expectations, and his designs in regard to 
Agnes. — XXVI. David goes home with Mr. Spenlow; he meets Miss Dora Spenlow, and 
falls in love at sight; Miss Murdstone appears as Dora's " confidential friend." — XXVII. 
David goes to see Traddles, and finds him boarding with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. — 
XXVIII. David gives a dinner-party to Traddles and the Micawbers, which is interrupted 
by the appearance of Littimer ; Mr. Micawber throws down the gauntlet to society ; Sterr- 
forth's anival at David's rooms ; he brings news of the sickness of Mr. Barkis, and David 
decides to go down to Yarmouth; another gloomj' letter from Mr. Micawber. — XXIX. 
David visits Steerforth at his home again. — XXX. Arriving at Yarmouth he hears from 
Mr. Omcr of the unsettled state of little Em'ly ; Mr. Barkis " goes out with the tide." — 
XXXI. Disappearance of Emilj% who is carried away by Steerforth ; Mr. Peggotty decides 
to seek his niece, leaving Mrs. Gummidge in charge of his house, Ham going to live with 
his aunt. — XXXII. Miss Mowcher explains her connection with Steerforth's intimacy 
with Emily, and her determination to do what she can to rescue her; Mr. Peggotty and 
David call upon Mrs. Steerforth ; passionate conduct of Rosa Dartle ; Mr. Peggotty sets out 
on his journey. — XXXIII. David encounters Mr. Murdstone at the office of Mr. Spenlow; 
David attends a party on Dora's birthday, and falls deeper in love ; he visits Dora at the 
house of her friend, Julia Mills, declares his passion, and is accepted; the engagement is 
to be kept a secret from Mr. Spenlow. — XXXIV. Traddles gives David some information 
in regard to the family connections of " the dearest girl in the world;" with Peggotty's 
assistance he redeems his household goods, taken on execution by Mr. Micawber's cred- 
itors; David, returning home, is astonished to find his aunt and Mr. Dick in his rooms, 
and to hear from her of the loss of her property. — XXXV. David makes an ineffectual 
attempt to cancel his articles; David's joy at unexpectedly meeting Aj-nes, who goes with 
him to see Miss Betsey, and they hear from her an account of her losses; Uriah Heep 
shows his increasing influence over Mr. Wickfleld. — XXXVI. David becomes amanucnsss 
to Dr. Strong, who has removed to London; he meets Mr. Jack Maldon, who has returned 
from India; David determines to learn short-hand reporting, and he and Traddles flnd em- 
ploj'ment for Mr. Dick; Mr. Micawber, about to leave London for Canterbuiy as the con- 
fidential clerk of Uriah Heep, entertains David and Traddles, and settles his pecuniary ob- 
ligations to the latter by presenting him his I. O. U. — XXXVII. David informs Dora of 
the change in his fortune and prospects. — XXXVIII. Traddles delivers parliamentary 
speeches, and David reports him; Mr. Spenlow discovers, through Miss Murdstone, the 
attachment of David and Dora, and forbids the engagement; sudden death of Mr. Spenlow, 
and the disordered state in which his affairs are found; Dora goes to live with her maiden 
aunts at Putney. —XXXIX. David finds Mr. Micawber installed as confidential clerk to 
Wickfleld and Heep, and not altogether easy in the position; he consults Agnes on the 
state of his engagement to Dora, and by her advice writes to Dora's aunts; Uriah forces 
his company upon David, and intimates his designs in regard to Agnes; effect upon Mr 
Vickfleld of the knowledge of these designs. — XL. David encounters Mr. Peggotty, who 



IDabiti <a:opj)erfieltr. 331 

reltttes his travels In search of Emily, and is overheard by Martha Endell. — XLI. David 
and Traddles go to Putney to see the Misses Spenlow, who consent, on certain conditions, 
to receive David's visits. — XLII. Agnes's first meeting with Dora ; Uriah Hcep attempts tc 
convince Dr. Strong of the faithlessness of his wife, and the noble answer of the doctor 
to his aspersions; David gives Uriah a blow; David receives a singular letter from 
Mrs. Micawber. — XLIII. Marriage of David and Dora. — XLIV. Some account of their 
housekeeping. — XLV. Mr. Diclc suspects thg cause of the unhappiness of Mrs. Strong, 
and determines to " set things right; " a convenient opportunity offering, he brings about 
the desired explanation. — XLVI. David, passing by Mrs. Steerforth's house, is called in 
by Rosa Dartle, who makes Littimer repeat to him the story of Steerforth and Emily, 
their separation, and Emily's flight; David repeats the story to Mr. Pcggotty, and advises 
him to put Martha upon the watch for Emily, if she should return to London. —XLVII. 
David and Mr. Peggotty follow Martha to the river-side, and save her from suicide, and 
then secure her promise to devote herself to the task of saving Emily; David meets again 
the strange man who has such an influence over Miss Betsey, and learns from her that he 
isher husband. — XLVIII. Some further account of David's housekeeping, and the com- 
mencement of Dora's decline. — XLIX. David receives a mysterious letter from Mr. 
Micawber; Traddles has one equally mysterious from Mrs. Micawber; they meet Mr. 
Micawber by appointment, and find him in very low spirits; they take him home to Miss 
Trotwood's, where he is overcome b3' the cordiality of Mr. Dick ; commits sundry strange 
blunders in his favorite occupation of making punch, and finally relieves his mind by a 
frantic denouncement of Uriah Heep. — L. Martha brings David news of Emily; going 
to Martha's lodging, they see Rosa Dartle enter the room, and from an unoccupied room 
they witness the interview between Rosa Dartle and Emily; Peggotty returns, and meets 
Emily. —LI. He relates to David and Miss Betsey the story of Emily's escape from Litti- 
mer, how she was befriended by a poor cottager, and finally, reaching London, was rescued 
bj' Martha ; he also informs them of his plan of emigrating with Emily to Australia ; David 
calls upon Mr. Omer, and finds him in good spirits ; Ham gives David a parting message 
for Emily; Mrs. Gummidge insists on going with Mr. Peggotty. — LIL Miss Betsey, Mr. 
Dick, Traddles, and David go down to Canterbury to keep their appointment with Mr. 
Micawber; interview in the office of Wickfield and Heep, where Micawber exposes the 
villany of Uriah, and Traddles, acting for Mr. Wickfield, makes certain demands with 
which Uriah thinks it best to comply ; Miss Betsey and David witness the reconciliation 
of Mr. and Mrs. Micawber; Miss Betsey proposes to them emigration, with an offer of 
pecuniary assistance. —LIIL Dora's increasing weakness, and her death. — LIV. Mr. 
Micawber's preparations for emigrating; Traddles explains the condition of Mr. Wick- 
field's afl'airs, and the recovery of Miss Trotwood's property ; they arrange Micawber's 
money matters; Miss Betsey tells David the reason of her recent trouble, and he accom- 
panies her to the funeral of her husband; David writes to Emily, communicating Ham's 
last message, and receives her reply. — LV. The great storm at Yarmouth; David goes 
down to the shore to see the wi'ecked schooner, with the active figure conspicuous among 
her people; Ham attempts to reach the wreck, and is killed by the waves, and the body 
of the active seaman is washed ashore, and proves to be Steerforth. — LVI. David bears 
the news to Mrs. Steerforth; passionate manner of Rosa Dartle towards Mrs. Steerforth. 
— LVII. The emigrants complete their prepai-atious, and set sail, Mr. Peggotty taking 
Martha with him. — LVIII. David goes abroad, and remains for three years. — LIX. On 
his return he seeks Traddles, finds him married and keeping house, and with five of Sophy's 
sisters for visitors ; David encounters Mr. Chillip, and hears news from the Murdstones. — 
LX. He returns to Dover; Miss Betsey gives him a hint that Agnes's affections are en- 
gaged; David's interview with Agnes and her father, and Mr. Wickfield's story of her 
care and kindness. — LXI. A glimpse at the happy life of Traddles and Sophy ; David and. 
Traddles find Mr. Creakle a i-espected magistrate ; under his escort they visit a model 
prison, and find Littimer and Uriah Heep among its inmates. — LXII. Miss Betsey strength- 
ens David's belief in the attachment that Agnes has formed; questioning Agnes, David 
finds that he is himself the object of it. — LXIII. Marriage of David and Agnes ; ten years 
after, they receive a visit from Mr. Peggotty, who brings good accounts of all the emi- 
grants. — LXIV. A last retrospect, showing what has happened to the principal peruonagea 
of the story. 



Bleak ^onst. 



In the preface to "David Copperfleld," Mr. Dickens promised to renew hia 
acquaintance with the public by putting forth again " two green leaves once a 
month." This he did by bringing out, in 1852, in the familiar serial form, the first 
number of a new novel, called " Bleak House," after a tall, exposed brick building, 
which had been his summer residence at Broadstairs, — a favorite watering-place 
on the east coast of the Isle of Thanet. It was published by Bradbury and Evans, 
was illustrated by " Phiz," and ran through the usual twenty numbers. The pref- 
ace was dated August, 1853 ; and the dedication was to the author's " companions 
in the guild of literature and art." The work was chiefly aimed at the vexatious 
delays of the Court of Chancery, and the enormous expense of prosecuting suits 
therein. At the time of publication there was a suit before the court which had 
been commenced nearly twenty years before ; in which from thirty to forty counsel 
had been known to appear at one time ; in which costs had been incurred to the 
amount of seventy thousand pounds ; which was a friendly suit ; and which was 
said to be no nearer to its termination then than when it was begun. 



CHABAGTER8 INTBODUGED, 

Badger, Mr. Bayham. A medical practitioner in London, to 
whom Richard Carstone is articled. Mr. Badger is noted princi- 
pally for his enthusiastic admiration of his wife's former husbands ; 
he being the third. 

Mr. Bayham Badger . . . was a pink, fresh-faced, crisp-looking gentleman 
with a weak voice, white teeth, light hair, and surprised eyes, — some years 
younger, I should say, than Mrs. Bayham Badger. He admired her exceedingly, 
but principally, and to begin with, on the curious ground (as it seemed to us) of 
her having had three husbands. We had barely taken our seats, when he said 
to Mr. Jarndyce, quite triumphantly, — 

" You would hardly suppose I was Mrs. Bayham Badger's third I " 
332 



asieafe 5H|ouse. 333 

" Indeed ? " said Mr. Jarndyce. 

" Her third," said Mr. Badger. " Mrs. Bayham Badger has not the appearance, 
Miss Summerson, of a lady who has had two former husbands ? " 

I said, " Not at all I " 

"And most remarkable men!" said Mr. Badger in a tone of confidence. 
" Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy, who was Mrs. Badger's first husband, was 
a very distinguished officer indeed. The name of Professor Dingo, my immedi- 
ate predecessor, is one of European reputation. . . . Perhaps you may be inter- 
ested ... in this portrait of Captain Swosser. ... I feel when I look at it . . . 
that 's a man I should like to have seen. . . . On the other side, Professor Dingo. 
I knew him well; attended him in his last illness. A speaking likeness I 
Over the piano, Mrs. Bayham Badger when Mrs. Swosser; over the sofa, Mrs. 
Bayham Badger when Mrs. Dingo. Of Mrs. Bayham Badger in esse, I possess 
the original, and have no copy." 

(Ch. xiii, xvii, 1.) 

Badger, Mrs. Bayham. A lady of about fifty, who u. 
youthfully, and improves her fine complexion by the use of a littio 
rouge. She is not only the wife of Mr. Badger, but the widow of 
Captain Swosser of the Royal Navy, and of Professor Dingo, to 
the loss of whom she has become inured by custom, combined with 
science, — particularly science. (Ch. xiii, xvii.) 

Bagnet, Matthew, called Lignum Vit^. An ex-artillery-man, 
" tall and upright, with shaggy eyebrows, and whiskers like the fibres 
of a cocoanut, not a hair upon his head, and a torrid complexion." 
On leaving the service, he goes into " the musical business," and 
becomes a bassoon-player. Of his wife's judgment he has a very 
exalted opinion ; though he never forgets the apostolic maxim that 
" the head of the woman is the man." To an old companion-in- 
arms he says, — 

" George I You know me. It 's my old girl that advises. She has the head; 
but I never own to it before her : discipline must be maintained. Wait till the 
greens is off her mind; then we'll consult. Whatever the old girl says do, 
do it." 

(Ch. xxvii, xxxiv, xlix, liii, Ixvi.) 
Bagnet, Mrs. His wife; a soldierly-looking woman, usually en- 
gaged in washing greens. (Ch. xxvii, xxxiv, xlix, liii, Iv, Ixvi.) 

Mrs. Bagnet is not an ill-looking woman; rather large-boned, a little coarse 
in the grain, and freckled by the sun and wind, which have tanned her hair upon 
the forehead, but healthy, wholesome, and bright-eyed. A strong, busy, active, 
honest-faced woman, of from forty-five to fifty. 

Bagnet, Malta. Their elder daughter; so called in the family 
(though not so christened), from the place of her birth in bar- 
racks. (Ch. xxvii, xxxiv, xlix, Ixvi.) 

Bagnet, Quebec. Their younger daughter ; so called in the fam- 



\i 



334 2ri)e ©fcfeens 23ictionar». 

ily (though not so christened), from the place of her birth in bar- 
racks. ('Ch. xxvii, xxxiv, xlix, Ixvi.) 

Bagnet, Woolwich. Their son ; so called in the family (though 
not so christened), from the place of his birth in barracks. (Ch. 
xxvii, xxxiv, xlix.) 

Barbary, Miss. Aunt and god-mother to Esther Summerson. 

(Ch. iii.) 

She was a good, good woman. She went to church three times every Sunday, 
and to morning prayers on Wednesdays and Fridays, and to lectures whenever 
there were lectures; and never missed. She was handsome, and, if she had 
ever smiled, would have been (I used to think) like an angel ; but she never 
smiled. She was always grave and strict. She was so very good herself, I 
thought that the badness of other people made her frown all her life. 

Blinder, Mrs. A good-natured old woman, with a dropsy, or an 
asthma, or perhaps both; a friend of the Necketts. (Ch. xv, 
xxiii.) 

Bogsby, James George. Landlord of " The Sol's Arms " tav- 
ern. (Ch. xxxiii.) 

Boodle, Lord. A friend of Sir Leicester Dedlock's ; a man of 
considerable reputation with his party, and who has known what 
office is. (Ch. xii.) 

Boythorn, Lawrence. A friend of Mr. Jarndyce's ; intended 
as a portrait of Dickens's friend, Walter Savage Landor. (Ch. ix, 
xii, xiii, xv, xviii, xxiii, xliii, Ixvi.) 

" I went to school with this fellow, Lawrence Boythorn," said Mr. Jarn- 
dyce, . . . "more than five and forty years ago. He was then the most impet- 
uous boy in the world, and he is now the most impetuous man; he was then 
the loudest boy in the world, and he is now the loudest man ; he was then the 
heartiest and sturdiest boy in the world, and he is now the heartiest and sturdi- 
est man. He is a tremendous fellow." 

" In stature, sir ? " asked Richard. 

" Pretty well. Rick, in that respect," said Mr. Jarndyce ; " being some ten 
years older than I, and a couple of inches taller, with his head thrown back like 
an old soldier, his stalwart chest squared, his hands like a clean blacksmith's, 
and his lungs! — there 's no simile for his lungs. Talking, laughing, or snor- 
ing, they make the beams of the house shake. . . . But it 's the inside of the 
man, the warm heart of the man, the passion of the man, the fresh blood of the 
man, . . . that I speak of. ... His language is as sounding as his voice. He 
is always in extremes ; perpetually in the superlative degree. In his condem- 
nation he is all ferocity. You might suppose him to be an ogre from what he 
says, and I believe he has the reputation of one with some people. There ! I 
tell you no more of him beforehand." . . . 

We were sitting round the fire, with no light but the blaze, when the hall- 
door suddenly burst open, and the hall resounded with these words, uttered 
with the greatest vehemence, and in a stentorian tone : — 

'' We have been misdirected, Jarndyce, by a most abandoned ruffian, who 



asiealt ?i^ouse. 335 

told us to take the turning to the right, instead of to the left. He is (he most 
intolerable scoundrel on the face of the earth. His father must have been a 
most consummate villain ever to have had such a son. I Avould have that fel- 
low shot without the least remorse I " 

" Did he do it on purpose ?" Mr. Jarndyce inquired. 

" I have not the slightest doubt that the scoundrel has passed his whole ex- 
istence in misdirecting travellers I " returned the other. " By my soul, I thought 
him the worst-looking dog I had ever beheld, when he was telling me to take the 
turning to the right. And yet I stood before that fellow face to face, and did 
n't knock his brains out 1 " . . . 

We all conceived a prepossession in his [Boythorn's] favor; for there was a 
sterling quality in his laugh, and in his vigorous healthy voice, and in the round- 
ness and fulness with which he uttered every word he spoke, and in the very 
fury of his superlatives, which seemed to go off like blank cannons, and hurt 
nothing. . . . He was not only a very handsome old gentleman, — upright and 
stalwai't, as he had been described to us, — with a massive gray head, a fine 
composure of face when silent, a figure that might have become corpulent but 
for his being so continually in earnest that he gave it no rest, and a chin that 
might have subsided into a double chin but for the vehement emphasis in which 
it was constantly required to assist ; but he was such a true gentleman in his 
manner, so chivalrously polite, his face was lighted by a smile of so much 
sweetness and tenderness, and it seemed so plain that he had nothing to hide, 
but showed himself exactly as he was, . . . that really I could not help looking 
at him with equal pleasure as he sat at dinner, whether he smilingly conversed 
with Ada and me, or was led by 3Ir. Jarndyce into some great volley of super- 
latives, or threw up his head like a bloodhound, and gave out that tremendous 
"Ha, ha, ha I" 

Bucket, Mr. Inspector. A detective officer, wonderfully patient, 
persevering, affable, alert, imperturbable, and sagacious ; a stoutly- 
built, steady-looking, sharp-eyed man in black, of about the middle 
age. The original of this character is supposed to have been In- 
spector Field of the London police, with whom Mr. Dickens was 
well acquainted, and whom he has described in the article in " Re- 
printed Pieces," entitled " On Duty with Inspector Field." (Ch. 
xxii, xxiv, XXV, xlix, liii, liv, Ivi, Ivii, lix, Ixi, Ixii.) 

Mr. Bucket and his fat forefinger are much in consultation. . . . He puts 
it to his ears, and it whispers information ; he puts it to his lips, and it en- 
joins him to secrecy; he rubs it over his nose, and it sharpens his scent; he 
shakes it before a guilty man, and it charms him to his destruction. . . . Oth- 
erwise mildly studious in his observation of human nature, on the whole, a be- 
nignant philosopher not disposed to be severe upon the follies of mankind, Mr. 
Bucket pervades a vast number of houses, and strolls about an infinity of 
streets; to outward appearance rather languishing for want of an object. He 
is in the friendliest condition towards his species, and will drink with most of 
them. He is free with his money, affable in his manners, innocent in his con- 
versation; but through the placid stream of his life there glides an undercur- 
rent of forefinger. Time and place cannot bind Mr. Bucket. Like man in the 
abstract, he is here to-day, and gone to-morrow; but, very unlike man indeed, 
he is here again the next day. 



336 2ri)e Bfcftens JBfctfonacg. 

Bucket, Mrs. Wife of Mr. Inspector Bucket ; a lady of a natu- 
ral detective genius, which, if it had been improved by professional 
exercise, might have done great things, but which has paused at 
the level of a clever amateur. (Ch. liii, liv.) 

Buffey, The Right Honorable William, M. P. A friend 
of Sir Leicester Dedlock's. (Ch. xii, xxviii, liii, Iviii, Ixvi.) 

Carstone, Riohard. A ward of John Jarndyce, and a suitor in 
Chancery ; a handsome young man with an ingenuous face and a 
( most engaging laugh, afterwards married to Ada Clare. Thouo;h 
possessed of more than ordinary talent, and of excellent principles, 
he yet lacks tenacity of purpose, and becomes successively a stu- 
dent of law, a student of medicine, and a soldier. Ever haunted 
by the long-pending Chancery suit, and always basing his expendi- 
tures and plans on the expectation of a speedy and favorable de- 
cision of the case, he at last becomes very restless, leaves the army, 
and devotes all his energies to the suit. When the case is finally 
closed, and the whole estate is found to have been swallowed up in 
costs, the blow proves too much for him, and quickly results in his 
death. (Ch. iii-vi, viii, ix, xii, xiv, xvii, xviii, xx, xxiii, xxiv, 
XXXV, xxxvii, xxxix, xliii, xlv, li, Ix, Ixi, Ixiv, Ixv.) 

Chadband, The Reverend Mr. A large yellow man, with a 
^i fat smile, and a general appearance of having a good deal of train- 
oil in his system. 

He is very much embarrassed about the arms, as if they were inconvenient 
to him, and he wanted to grovel ; is very much in a perspiration about the head ; 
and never spealcs without first putting up his great hand, as if delivering a 
token to his hearers that he is going to edify them. 

From Mr. Chadband's being much given to describe himself, both verbally 
and in writing, as a vessel, he is occasionally mistaken by strangers for a gen- 
tleman connected with navigation; but he is, as he expresses it, " in the minis- 
try." Mr. Chadband is attached to no particular denomination, and is consid- 
ered by his persecutors to have nothing so very remarkable to say on the 
greatest of subjects, as to render his volunteering on his own account, at all 
incumbent on his conscience; but he has his followers, and Mrs. Suagsby is 
of the number. 

Visiting Mrs. Snagsby's with his wife, one day, he salutes the 
lady of the house, and her husband, in the following manner, which 
may serve as a specimen of his usual style of delivering himself: — 

*' My friends, . . . peace be on this house I — on the master thereof, on the 
mistress thereof, on the young maidens, and on the young men. My friends, 
why do I wish for peace ? What is peace ? Is it war ? No. Is it strife ? NO: 
Is it lovely and gentle and beautiful and pleasant and serene and joyful? 01^ 
yes ! Therefore, my friends, I wish for peace on you and yours." 

(Ch. xix, XXV, liv.) 



ISleaft 3^ouse. 337 

Chadband, Mrs., formerly Mrs. Rachael. Wife of the Reverend 

Mr. Chadband; a stern, severe-looking, silent woman. (Ch. iii, 

xix, XXV, xxix, liv.) See Rachael, Mrs. 
Charley. See Neckett, Charlotte. 
Chickweed. See Smallweed, Bartholomew. 
Clare, Ada. A ward of Mr. John Jamdyce, and a friend of 
/ .Esther Sumraerson ; afterwards wife of Richard Carstone. (Ch. 
[y^ iii-vi, viii, ix, xiii-xv, xvii, xviii, xxiii, xxiv, xxx, xxxi, xxxv, 

xxxvii, xliii, xlv, 1, li, lix, Ix-lxii, Ixiv, Ixvii.) 
Coavinses. See Neckett, Mr. 
Darby. A constable who accompanies Mr. Bucket to Tom-all- 

Alone's. (Ch. xxii.) 
Dedlock, Sir Leicester. Representative of one of the great 
j /county families of England. (Ch. ii, vii, ix, xii, xvi, xviii, xxviii, 
■/ xxix, xl, xli, xliii, xlviii, liii-lvi, Iviii, Ixiii, Ixvi.) 

Sir Leicester Dedlock is only a baronet ; but there is no mightier baronet than 
he. His family is as old as the hills, and infinitely more respectable. He has 
a general opinion that the world might get on without hills, but would be done 
up without Dedlocks. . . . He is a gentleman of strict conscience, disdainful of 
all littleness and meannesses, and ready, on the shortest notice, to die any 
death you please to mention rather than give occasion for the least impeachment 
of his integrity. He is an honorable, obstinate, truthful, high-spirited, intensely 
prejudiced, perfectly unreasonable man. 

Sir Leicester is twenty years, full measure, older than my lady. He will 
never see sixty-five again, nor perhaps sixty-six, nor yet sixty-seven. He haa 
a twist of the gout now and then, and walks a little stiffly. He is of a worthy 
presence, with his light gray hair and whiskers, his fine shirt-frill, his pure white 
waistcoat, and his blue coat with bright buttons always buttoned. He is cere- 
monious, stately, most polite on every occasion to my lady, and holds her per- 
sonal attractions in the highest estimation. His gallantry to my lady, which 
has never changed since he courted her, is the one little touch of romantic 
fancy in him. 

Dedlock, Lady Honoria. Mother of Esther Summerson by 
Captain Hawdon, a gay rake, to whom she is engaged, but whom 
she never marries. She afterwards becomes the wife of Sir Leices- 
ter Dedlock, who knows nothing of this portion of her history, 
but, fascinated by her beauty and wit, marries her solely for love, 
for she has not even "family." Being a proud and ambitious 
woman, she assumes her new position with dignity, and holds it 
with cold composure, hiding in her heart, however, her disgraceful 
secret. She flies from home upon the eve of its discovery, and dies 
miserably, from the combined effects of shame, remorse, and ex- 
posure, at the gate of a wretched graveyard, in which the father 
29 



338 2C!)e Bfcftens Bfctfonarg. 

of her child lies buried, in one of the worst and filthiest portions of 
London. (Ch. ii, vii, ix, xii, xvi, xviii, xxviii, xxix, xxxiii, xxxvi, 
xxxix-xli, xlviii, liii-lviii.) 

Dedlock, Volumnia. A cousin of Sir Leicester Dedlock's, from 
whom she has an annual allowance, on which she lives slenderly at 
Bath, making occasional visits at the country-house of her patron. 
She is a young lady of sixty, of high standing in the city in which 
she resides, but a little dreaded elsewhere, in consequence of an 
indiscreet profusion in the article of rouge, and persistency in an 
obsolete pearl necklace, like a rosary of little bird's-eggs. (Ch. 
xxviii, xl, liii, liv, Ivi, Iviii, Ixvi.) 

Donny, Miss. Proprietor of a boarding-school, called Greenleaf, 
at Reading, where Esther Summerson spends six years. (Ch. iii.) 

Flite, Miss. A half-crazed little old woman, who is a suitor in 
\\ Chancery, and attends every sitting of the court, expecting judg- 
ment in her favor. She tells Esther Summerson, — 

" There 's a cruel attraction iu the place : you can't leave it. And you must 
expect. ... I have been there many years, and I have noticed. It 's the Mace 
and Seal upon the table." 

What could they do, did she think ? I mildly asked her. 
"Draw," returned Miss Flite, — " draw people on, my dear; draw peace out 
of them, sense out of them, good looks out of them, good qualities out of 
them : I have felt them even drawing my rest away in the night. Cold and 
glittering devils I . . . Let me see," said she. " I '11 tell you my own case. 
Before they ever drew me, before I had ever seen them, — what was it I used 
to do? Tambourine-playing? No; tambour-work. I and my sister worked at 
tambour-work. Our father and our brother had a builder's business. We all 
lived together; ve-ry respectably, my dear I First our father was drawn, — 
slowly: home was drawn with him. In a few years he was a fierce, sour, 
angry bankrupt, without a kind word or a kind look for any one. He had been 
so different, Fitz-Jarndyce 1 He was drawn to a debtor's prison : there he died. 
Then our brother was drawn, swiftly, to drunkenness and rags and death 
Then my sister was drawn. Hush I Never ask to what I Then I was ill, and 
in misery, and heard, as I had often heard before, that this was all the work of 
Chancery. When I got better, I went to look at the monster; and then I found 
out how it was, and I was drawn to stay there." 

(Ch. iii, V, xi, xiv, xx, xxiv, xxxiii, xxxv, xlvi, xlvii, 1, Ix, Ixv.) 

G-eorge. See Rouxcewell, Geobge. 

Gridley, Mr., called " The Man from Shropshire." A ruined 
suitor in Chancery, who periodically appears in court, and breaks 
out into efforts to address the chancellor at the close of the day's 
business, and can by no means be made to understand that the 
chancellor is legally ignorant of his existence, after making it 
desolate for a quarter of a century. He gives Mr. Jarndyce the 
following account of his case : — 



BleaR Ji^ouse. 339 

" I am one of two brothers. My father (a farmer) made a will, and left hi3 
farm and stock, and so forth, to my mother, for her life. After my mother's 
death, all was to come to me, except a legacy of three hundred pounds, that I 
was then to paj my brother. My mother died; my brother, some time after- 
wai'ds, claimed his legacy. I and some of my relations said that he had had a 
part of it already, in board and lodging and some other things. Now mind I 
That was the question, and nothing else. No one disputed tliewill^ no one 
disputed any thing but whether part of that three hundred pounds had been 
already paid or not. To settle that question, my brother filing a bill, 1 was 
obliged to go into this accursed Chancery : I was forced there because the law 
forced me, and would let me go nowhere else. Seventeen peo])le were made 
defendants to that simple suit. It first came on after two years. It was then 
stopped for another two years, while the master (may his head rot offl) in- 
quired whether I was my father's son, — about which there was no dispute 
at all with any mortal creature. He then found out that there were not defend- 
ants enough, — remember, there were only seventeen as yet I — but that we 
must have another who had been left out, and must begin all over again. The 
costs at'that time — before the thing was begun — were three times the legacy. 
My brother would have given up the legacy, and joyful, to escape more costs. 
My whole estate left to me in that will of my father's has gone in costs. 
The suit, still undecided, has fallen into rack and ruin and despair with every 
thing else; and here I stand this day." 

Badgered and worried and tortured by being knocked about 
from post to pillar and from pillar to post, he gets violent and 
desperate, threatens the lawyers, and pins the chancellor like a 
bull-dog, and is sent to the I^leet over and over again for contempt 
of court. At last, he becomes utterly discouraged and worn out, 
and suddenly breaks down, and dies in a shooting-gallery, where he 
is trying to hide from the officers. In the preface to " Bleak House," 
Mr. Dickens says of this character, — 

Every thing set forth in these pages concerning the Court of Chancery is 
substantially true, and within the truth. The case of Gridley is in no essen- 
tial altered from one of actual occurrence, made public by a disinterested person, 
who was professionally acquainted with the whole of the monstrous wrong 
from beginning to end. 

(Ch. i, XV, xxiv.) 

Grubble, "W. Landlord of '' The Dedlock Arms," a pleasant- 
looking, stoutish, middle-aged man, who never seems to consider 
himself cosily dressed for his own fireside, without his hat and 
top-boots, but who never wears a coat except at church. (Ch. 
xxxvii.) 

Gruppy, Mrs. Mother of William Guppy ; a wayward old lady, in 
a large cap, with rather a red nose and rather an unsteady eye, but 
\always smiling all over. (Ch. xxxviii, Ixiv.) 

Gtippy, William. A lawyer's clerk, in the employ of Kenge 



340 8r!)e Bicfeens SBfctfonarj. 

and Carboy, Mr. Jarndyce's solicitors ; usually spoken of as " the 
young man of the name of Guppy." He conceives a passion for 
Esther Summerson, the heroine of the story, and declares his love 
(" files a declaration," as he phrases it) in a very amusing manner. 
Though refused, and greatly disappointed, he does not quite de- 
spair, and, on taking his leave, tells her, — 

"In case you should think better — at any time, however distant, tliat *s no 
consequence, for my feelings can never alter — of any thing I have said, particu- 
larly what might I not do, — Mr. William Guppy, eighty-seven Penton riace, 
or if removed or dead (of blighted hopes or any thing of that sort), care of 
Mrs. Guppy, three hundred and two Old Street Eoad, will be sufficient." 

At a later day, on receiving a business call from Miss Summer- 
son, and discovering, that, from the effects of a fever, she has lost 
her former beauty, he fancies that she has come to hold him to his 
proposal, and becomes, in consequence, very confused and appre- 
hensive. Although she assures him that such is not the case, he 
nevertheless asks her to make a full and explicit statement, before 
a witness, whose name and address he carefully notes with legal 
precision, that there has never been any engagement, or promise of 
marriage, between them. (Ch. iii, iv, vii, ix, xiii, xix, xx, xxiv, 
xxix, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxviii, xxxix, xliv, liv, Iv, Ix, Ixiii, Ixiv.) 

Guster (by some supposed to have been christened Augusta). Maid- 
servant of the Snagbys ; a lean young woman of some three or four 
and twenty, subject to fits. Taken originally from the work-house, 
she is so afraid of being sent back there, that, except when she is 
found with her head in the pail, or the sink, or the copper, or the 
dinner, or any thing else that happens to be near her at the time of 
her seizure, she is always at work. (Ch. x, xi, xix, xxii, xxv, xlii, 
lix.) 

Gusher, Mr, A friend of Mrs. Pardiggle's ; a flabby gentleman, 
with a moist surface, and eyes so much too small for his moon of a 
face, that they seem to have been originally made for somebody else. 
(Ch. XV.) 

ECawdon, Captain. A law- writer who lodges at Mr. Krook's, and 
gives himself the name of Nemo ; formerly a rakish military officer, 
and a lover of a young lady (afterwards Lady Dedlock), who gives 
birth to a child (Esther Summerson), of which he is the father. He 
dies in a garret, and is buried in the Potter's Field (set apart for 
strangers and paupers), at the gate of which Lady Dedlock is found 
lying lifeless, after her flight from her husband's house. (Ch. v, x, xi.) 



33leal& ^ouse. 341 

^ortense, Mademoiselle. Lady Dedlock's waiting-woman, and 

the murderess of Mr. Tulkinghorn ; intended as a portrait of a 

Mrs. Manning, a real murderess. (Ch. xii, xviii, xxii, xxiii, xlii, 

xliv, liv.) 

My lady's maid is a Frenchwoman of two and thirty, from somewhere in the 
southern country about Avignon and Marseilles, — a large-eyed brown woman 
with black hair, who would be handsome, but for a certain feline mouth, and 
general uncomfortable tightness of face, rendering the jaws too eager, and the 
skull too prominent. There is something indefinably keen and watchful about 
her anatomy ; and she has a watchful way of looking out of the corners of her 
eyes, without turning her head, which could be pleasantly dispensed with, 
— especially when she is in an ill-humor, and near knives. 

Jarndyce, John. Guardian of Richard Carstone and Ada Clare, 
and friend and protector of Esther Summerson. He is an un- 

' married man of about sixty, upright, hearty, and robust, with 
silvered iron-gray hair; a handsome, lively, quick face, full of 
change and motion ; pleasant eyes ; a sudden, abrupt manner ; and 
a very benevolent heart. He affects to be subject to fits of ill- 
humor, and has a habit of saying, when deceived or disappointed in 
any person or matter, that " the wind is in the east ; " and of taking 
refuge in his library, which he calls " The Growlery." Mr. 
Jarndyce is one of the parties in the celebrated Chancery suit 
of " Jarndyce and Jarndyce." 

" Of course, Esther," he said, " you don't understand this Chancery busi- 
ness ? 

And of course I shook my head. 

" I don't know who does," he returned. " The lawyers have twisted it int(» 
such a state of bedevilment, that the original merits of the case have long disap- 
peared from the face of the earth. It 's about a will, and the trusts under a 
will, — or it was once. It's about nothing but costs now. We are always 
appearing and disappearing and swearing and interrogating and filing and 
cross-filing and arguing and sealing and motioning and referring and report- 
ing, and revolving about the lord chancellor and all his satellites, and 
equitably waltzing ourselves off to dusty death, about costs. That 's the great 
question. All the rest, by some extraordinary means, has melted away." 

"But it was, sir," said I, to bring him back, for he began to rub his head, 
"about a will?" 

"Why, yes, it was about a will when it was about any thing," he returned. 
" A certain Jarndyce, in an evil hour, made a great fortune, and made a great 
will. In the question how the trusts under that will are to be administered, the 
fortune left by the will is squandered away ; the legatees under the will are re- 
duced to such a miserable condition, that they would be sufficiently punished, if 
they had committed an enormous crime in having money left them ; and the will 
itself is made a dead letter. All through the deplorable cause, every thing that 
everybody in it, except one man, knows already, is referred to that only one 
man who don't know it, to find out ; all through the deplorable cause, everybody 
must ha^'e copies, over and over again, of every thing that has accumulated 
29* 



342 S!)e ISicfeens Bictionars. 

about it in the way of cart-loads of papers (or must pay for them without having 
them, which is the usual course; for nobody wants them); and must go down 
the middle and up again, through such an infernal country-dance of costs and 
fees, and nonsense and corruption, as was never dreamed of in the wildest 
visions of a witch's sabbath. . . . And thus, through years and years, and 
lives and lives, every thing goes on, constantly beginning over and over again, 
and nothing ever ends. And we can't get out of the suit on any terms ; for we 
are made parties to it, and must be parties to it, whether we like it or not. But 
it won't do to think of it 1 " 

And Mr. Jarndyce does not allow himself to think of it, if he 

can possibly help doing so. With the warning example of so many 

of his kinsmen, living or dead, always before him, he refuses to 

enter the court, or have any thing whatever, of his own accord, 

to do with the case ; but he deeply pities and benevolently 

assists those of his relatives who have thrown themselves into 

it, and make it the object of their lives. It is found, however, 

that the whole estate has been absorbed in cost ; and thus the suit 

lapses and melts entirely away. (Ch. i, iii, vi, viii, ix, xiii-xv, xvii, 

xviii, xxiii, xxiv, xxx, xxxi, xxxv-xxxvii, xxxix, xliii-xlv, xlvii, 

1-hi, Ivi, Ix-lxii, Ixiv, Ixv, Ixvii.) 

Jellyby, Caroline, called " Caddy." Mrs. Jellyby's eldest daugh- 
ter, and her amanuensis ; a pretty and industrious, but sadly neg- 
lected and overworked girl. Becoming heartily disgusted and tired 
with copying never-ending letters to innumerable correspondents, 
concerning the welfare of her species, she resolves that she won't 
be a slave all her life, and accordingly marries Prince Turvey- 
drop, who makes her very happy. (Ch. iv, v, xiv, xviii, xxiii, 
xxx, xxxviii, 1, Ixv, Ixvii.) 

Jellyby, Mrs. A very pretty, very diminutive, plump woman, of 
from forty to fifty, with handsome eyes, though they have a curious 
habit of seeming to look a long way off. She is a lady of remark- 
able strength of character, who has devoted herself to an extensive 
variety of public subjects, at various times, and especially to the 
subject of Africa, with a view to the general cultivation of the cof- 
fee-berry, and the natives, and the happy settlement of a portion of 
our superabundant home-population in Borrioboola-Gha, on the left 
bank of the Niger. Her energies are so entirely devoted to this 
philanthropic project, that she finds no time to consider the happi- 
ness or welfare of her own family ; and the result is, that her chil- 
dren grow up dirty, ignorant, and uncared-for ; her house is disgrace- 
fully cold, cheerless, and untidy; and her husband becomes a 
dejected and miserable bankrupt. 



asiealt Jj^ouse. 343 

According to Mr. Hotten in his " Life of Dickens " (p. 214), 
"Miss Martineau came forward in her own person to take the 
cap of IVIrs. Jellyby, and to scold Mr. Dickens for his allusions 
to ' blue-stockingism ' and ' Borrioboola-Gha.' " (Ch. iv, v, xix, 
xxiii, XXX, xxxviii, 1, Ixvii.) 

Jellyby, Mr, The husband of Mrs. Jellyby ; a mild, bald, quiet 
gentleman in spectacles, who is completely merged in the more 
shining qualities of his wife. (Ch. iv, xiv, xxiii, xxx, xxxviii, 1,. 
Ivii.) 

Jellyby, "Peepy" (so self-named). A neglected and unfortunate 
son of Mr. and Mrs. Jellyby. (Ch. iv, v, xiv, xxiii, xxx, xxxviii, 
Ixvii.) 

Jenny. Wife of a drunken brickmaker. (Ch. viii, xxii, xxxi^ 
xxxA', xlvi, Ivii.) 

Jo, called "TouGHEY." A street-crossing sweeper. A stranger 
/ / who has died very suddenly has been seen speaking to Jo, who is 
*^ brought before the coroner's jury. 

Here he is, very muddy, very hoarse, very ragged. Now, boy I But stop 
a minute. Caution. This boy must be put through a few preliminary paces. 

Name, Jo. Nothing else, that he knows on. Don't know that everybody has 
two names. Never heerd of such a think. Don't know that Jo is short for a 
longer name. Thinks it long enougli for Mm. He don't find no fault with it. 
Spell it? He can't spell it. No father, no mother, no friends. Never been to 
school. What 's home ? Knows a broom is a broom, and knows it 's wicked to 
tell a lie. Don't recollect who told him about the broom, or about the lie, but 
knows both. Can't exactly say what '11 be done to him arter he 's dead if he 
tells a lie to the gentlemen here, but believes it '11 be something wery bad, to 
punish him, and serve him right : and so he '11 tell the truth. 

His evidence is set aside. Questioned apart, however, and pri- 
vately, Jo tells his story with directness, and a touching and simple 
pathos. He knows — 

That the dead man was hooted and pursued about the streets. That one cold 
winter night, when he [Jo], the boy, was shivering in a doorway near his cross- 
ing, the man turned to look at him, and came back, and having questioned him, 
and found that he had not a friend in the world, said, '' Neither have I. Not 
one I " and gave him the price of a supper and a night's lodging. That the man 
had often spoken to him since, and asked him whether he slept sound at night, 
and how he bore cold and hunger, and whether he ever wished to die, and similar 
strange questions. That when the man had no money, he would say, in pass- 
ing, " I am as poor as you to-day, Jo ; " but that, when he had any, he had 
alwajs (as the boy most heartily believes) been glad to give him some. 

*' He was wery good to me," says the boy, wiping his eyes with his wretched 
coat-sleeve. *' Wen I see him a-layin' so stritched out jist now, I wished 
he could have heerd me tell him so. He wos wery good to me — he wos ! " 



344 2r!)e Ulcltens 2Sictionar2. 

The stranger is buried in the Potter's Field, unwept and unre- 
gretted : no, not unregretted ; for — 

With the night comes a slouching figure through the tunnel-court to the out- 
Bide of the iron gate. It holds the gate with its hands, and looks in between 
the bars ; stands looking in for a little while. 

It then, with an old broom it carries, softly sweeps the step, and makes the 
archway clean. It does so very busily and trimly; looks in again a little while; 
and so departs. 

Jo, is it thou? Well, well! Though a rejected witness, who " can't exactly 
eay " what will be done to him in greater hands than men's, thou art not quite 
in outer darkness. There is something like a distant ray of light in thy muttered 
reason for tnis : — 

" He wos wery good to me — he wos I " 

Becoming accidentally and unfortunately possessed of information 
which involves the secret of Lady Dedlock, poor Jo is driven away 
from London by officers in the service of Mr. Tulkinghorn, and is 
always being told to " move on," no matter where he may seek a 
resting-place. Worn out at last, he steals into the city, avoiding 
even those who would befriend him, but is finally found and taken 
in charge by a kind physician (Mr. Woodcourt), who knows a portion 
of his story ; and in the illness which follows is properly cared for. 
Jo desires to be laid in the strangers' burying-ground, near his unknown 
friend. 

" He used fur to say to me, ' I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he ses. I wants 
to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have come there to be laid along 
with him. . . . Will you promise to have me took there, sir, and laid along with 
him ? " 

" I will, indeed." 

" Thauk'ee, sir I Thank'ee, sir I They '11 have to get the key of the gate 
afore they can take me in; for it's alius locked. And there 's a step there, as I 
used to clean with my broom. It's turned wery dark, sir. Is there any light 
acomin'?" 

" It is coming fast, Jo." 

Fast. . . . The rugged road is very near its end. 

"Jo, my poor fellow I " 

" I hear you, sir, in the dark; but I'm a-gropin', a-gropin'. Let me catch hold 
•f your hand." 

" Jc, can you say what I say ? " 

" I 'II say any think as you say, sir; for I knows it 's good." 

"Our Fathbr." 

" Our father I — yes, that 's wery good, sir." 

"Which art in heaven." 

" Art in heaven. Is the light a-comin', sir ? " 

" It is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name.** 

" Hallowed be — thy " — 

The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead f 

Dead, your majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, right rever 



aSleaS^ J^ouse. 345 



^Ar.r. rkpsirl men and women, born with 

eud, and wrOBg -«-""-' -=,!f,°t^a d^ ng'.hus aLndus every day. 
heavenly compassion m your hcaita. Anaayig 

(Ch.xi,xvi,xix,xx,xxv,xxix,xxxii,xlv.,xlvu.) 

Toblins Tony o</«™«« Weevle. A friend of Mr. Guppy s, 

^td a! Iw^to for Mr. Snagsby. " He has the faded appearance 

? a ; ntleman in embarrassed circumstances;, even '^^^^ 

kers droop «ith something of a shabby air." (Ch. vu, xx, xxxn, 

Kent"' nf '!.«':' ctvEKS.™. Ke.oe. Senior .ember of 
the firm oKence and Carboy, solicitors; a portly, important- 
tkit .entlcman dressed all in black, .vith a .bite cravat, arge 
Sd :;tch seals, a pair of gold eye-glasses, and a large sea^nn^ 
° ,. , /• /m^ ;;; iv xiii xvii-xx, xxiu, xxiv, xxxvu, 

upon his little finger. (Oh. in, iv, xui, xvu ^, 

xxxix, Ixii, Ixv.) 

He appeared -en^oybeyondeve t^^^^^^^^^ 
n'twonderatthat;forxtwasmelo^^^ satisfaction, and some- 

word he uttered. He listened to Inmseit ^^u^ rounded a sentence 

times gently beat time to bis own music with hi. head, or rouna 



Avith his hand. 



AVKIl Ills uauv*. 

Krook Mr. Proprietor of a rag-and-bottle-shop, and dealer in 
nW s^^s, bones, kitchen-stuff, ™aste-papcr, &c. ; landlord o 
J^ Flite and Captain Hawdon ; and oaly brother to Mrs. Sma 1- 
Ted He is an unmarried man, old, eccentric, and much g.ven to 
leuse of intoxicating drinks. In person he is short, cadaverous, 
Ind withered ; with Us head sunk sideways between h.s shoulders, 
TndT^ breath issuing invisible smoke from his mouth, as .f he 
were on fire within. His only companion is a large gray cat, ol a 
Tree disposition, which is accustomed to perch on nis shoulder 
W^'his man, Mr. Weevle (alias Jobling) has an appomtmen 
for twelve o'clock on a certain night. Going into the room at the 
hour a..reed upon, he finds it full of smoke, the window-panes and 
toiture coveL with a dark, greasy deposit, more of wh«=h is d - 
covered lyin» in a small heap of ashes on the floor before the fiie. 
^e explanation is, that Krook ha« perished, a victim to spontaneous 



combustion. , . ^ ,, ^ ^„^-^'^ 

This incident excited much controversy at the time of the ptibh- 
cation of " Bleak House ; " the possibility of spontaneous combus„on 
bcin. vehemently denied by Mr. G. H. Lewes and others. In hs 
pref^e, Mr. Dickens maintains his ground, and brings forward a 
number of " notable facts " in support of his position. The dispute, 



346 2r!)e Bicfeens Bfctfonar^. 

however, as has been justly observed, "is not as to the facts, but as 
to their explanation." Persons have undoubtedly been burned to 
death under circumstances not well accounted for ; but that the 
living human body ever becomes ignited, and burns like a candle, 
or smoulders away, until nothing but ashes or charcoal is left, is a 
theory, which — however attractive it may be to the popular mind — 
would be admitted by no scientific man at the present day, whose 
opinion is entitled to the slightest respect. (Ch. v, x, xi, xiv, xix, 
XX, xxix, xxxii.) 

IjIz. a brutal brickmaker's wife. (Ch. viii, xxii, xxxi, xlvi, Ivii.) 

Man from Shropshire, The. See Gridley, Mr. 

Melvilleson, Miss M. A " noted siren," or vocalist, advertised 
under that name, though she has been married a year and a half, 
and has her baby clandestinely conveyed to the Sol's Arms every 
nmht ta receive its natural nourishment during the entertainments. 
(Ch. xxxii, xxxiii, xxxix.) 

Mercury. A footman in the service of Sir Leicester Dedlock. 
(Ch. ii, xvi, xxix, xxxiii, xl, xlviii, liii, liv.) 

Mooney. A beadle. (Ch. xi.) 

Neckett, Charlotte, called Charley. Elder daughter of Llr. 

y Neckett, an officer. She is a womanly, self-reliant girl of about 
thirteen or fourteen, who, after the death of her father, goes out to 
work to earn a livelihood for herself and a younger brother and 
sister. 

She is visited by Mr. Jarndyce ; and the following conversation 
ensues : — 

" Do you often go out ? " 

" As often as I can," said Charley, opening her eyes, and smiling; " because 
of earning sixpences and shillings." 

" And do you always lock the babies up when you go out ?" 

*' To keep 'em safe, sir; don't you see ? " said Charley. " Mrs. Blimbei comes 
up now and then ; and Mr. Gridley comes up sometimes ; and perhaps I can run 
in sometimes, and they can play, you know ; and Tom ain't afraid of being locked 
up. Are you, Tom ? " 

" No — o," said Tom stoutly. 

" When it comes on dark, the lamps are lighted down in the court, and 
they shine up here quite bright, — almost quite bright ; don't they, Tom ? '' 

" Yes, Charley," said Tom, '' almost quite bright." 

" Then he 's as good as gold," said the little creature — oh, in such a motherly, 
womanly way I " And, when Emma 's tired, he puts her to bed; and, when he 's 
tired, he goes to bed himself; and when I come home and light the candle, 
and has a bit of supper, he sits up again, and has it with me. Don't you, 
Tom?" 

<' Oh, yes I Charley," said Tom. *' That I do I " 



asieafe J^ouse. 347 

And either in this glimpse of the great pleasure of his life, or in gratitude 
and love for Charley, who was all in all to him, he laid his face among the 
scanty folds of her frock, and passed from laughing into crying. 

(Ch. XV, xxi, xxiii, xxx, xxxi, xxxv-xxxvii, xliv, xlv, li, Ixi, Ixii, 
Ixiv, Ixvii.) 

Neckett, Emma. Infant daughter of Mr. Neckett. (Ch, xv, 

xxiii, Ixvii.) 
Neckett, Mr., called Coavinses. A sheriff's officer. (Ch. vi, xv.) 
Neckett, Tom. Mr. Neckett's only son ; brother to " Charley " 

and Emma. (Ch xv, xxiii, Ixvii.) 
Nemo. See Hawdon, Captain. 
Pardiggle, Mr. O. A., F. R. S. Husband of Mrs. Pardiggle; 

an obstinate-looking man, with a large waistcoat and stubbly hair, 

always talking in a loud bass voice about his mite, or Mrs. Pardig- 

gle's mite, or their five boys' mites. (Ch. viii, xxx.) 
-Pardiggle, Mrs. One of those charitable people who do little 
t^and make a great deal of noise. She is a School lady, a Visiting 

lady, a Reading lady, a Distributing lady, and on the Social Linen 

Box Committee, and many general committees. (Ch. viii, xv, xxx.) 
Pardiggle, Alfred. Youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. Pardiggle, 

aged five years. He voluntarily enrolls himself in the " Infant 

Bonds of Joy," and is pledged never, through life, to use tobacco 

in any form. (Ch. viii.) 
Pardiggle, Egbert. Eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Pardiggle, aged 

twelve years. He sends out his pocket-money, to the amount of 

five and threepence, to the Tockahoopo Indians. (Ch. viii.) 
Pardiggle, Felix. Fourth son of Mr. and Mrs. Pardiggle, aged 

seven years ; contributor of eightpence to the " Superannuated 

Widows." (Ch. viii.) 
Pardiggle, Francis. Third son of Mr. and Mrs. Pardiggle, aged 

nine years ; a contributor of one and sixpence half-penny to the 

" Great National Smithers Testimonial." (Ch. viii.) 
Pardiggle, Oswald. Second son of Mr. and Mrs. Pardiggle, 

aged ten and a half. He gives two and ninepence to the " Great 

National Smithers Testimonial." (Ch. viii.) 
Perkins, Mrs. An inquisitive woman living near the Sol's Arms ; 

neighbor to Mr. Krook. (Ch. xi, xx, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxix.) 
Piper, Mrs. A woman who lives near Krook's rag-and-bottle 

shop, and who leads the court. (Ch. xi, xx, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxix.) 
Priscilla. JMrs. Jellyby's servant-girl ; " always drinking." (Ch. iv. 



348 8r|)e ©icfeens ©ictionarg. 

Quale, Mr. A friend of Mrs. Jellyby's ; a loquacious young man 
with large shining knobs for temples, and his hair all brushed to 
the back of his head. He is a philanthropist, and has a project for 
teaching the coffee colonists of Borrioboola-Gha to teach the na- 
tives to turn pianoforte-legs, and establish an export trade. (Ch. 
iv, V, XV, xxiii.) 

Rachael, Mrs. Servant to Miss Barbary ; afterwards the wife of 
the Reverend Mr. Chadband. 

Rosa. Lady Dedlock's maid ; a dark -haired, shy village beauty, 
betrothed to Watt Rouncewell. (Ch. vii, xii, xvi, xviii, xxviii, xl, 
xlviii, Ixiii.) 

Rouncewell, Mrs. Sir Leicester Dedlock's housekeeper at Ches- 
ney Wold ; a fine old lady, handsome, stately, and wonderfully 
neat. (Ch. vii, xii, xvi, xxviii, xxxiv, xl. Hi, Iv, Ivi, Iviii.) 

Rouncewell, Mr. Her son; an ironmaster; father of Watt 
Rouncewell. (Ch. vii, xxviii, xl, xlviii, Ixiii.) 

Rouncewell, George, called Mr. George. Another son ; a wild 
young lad, who enlists as a soldier, and afterwards becomes keeper 
of a shooting-gallery in London. (Ch. vii, xxi, xxiv, xxvi, xxvii, 
xxxiv, xlvii, xlix, lii, Iv, Ivi, Iviii, Ixiii, Ixvi.) 

Rouncewell, "Watt. Her grandson, betrothed to Rosa. (Ch. 
vii, xii, xviii, xxviii, xl, xlviii, Ixiii.) 

Shropshire, The Man from. See Gridley, Mr. 

Skimpole, Arethusa. Mr. Skimpole's blue-eyed "Beauty** 
daughter, who plays and sings odds and ends, like her father. 
(Ch. xliii.) 

Skimpole, Harold. A protege of Mr. John Jarndyce's ; a sen- 
timentalist, brilliant, vivacious, and engaging, but thoroughly selfish 
and unprincipled ; a genial caricature — so far as mere external 
peculiarities and mannerisms are concerned — of Leigh Hunt. The 
likeness was instantly recognized ; and Mr. Dickens, while admit- 
ting that he had " yielded to the temptation of too often making 
the character speak like his old friend," felt himself called upon 
to declare, that " he no more thought, God forgive him ! that the 
admired original would ever be charged with the imaginary vices 
of the fictitious creature than he has himself ever thought of char- 
ging the blood of Desdemona and Othello on the innocent Academy 
model who sat for la'go's leg in the picture." (Ch. iv, viii, ix, 
XV, xviii, xxxi, xxxvii, xliii, xlvi, Ivii, Ixi.) 

He was a little bright creature, with a rather large head, but a delicate face 
and a sweet voice; and there was a perfect charm ia him. All he said was so 



asieafe 3^ou»e. 349 

free from effort, and spontaneous, and was said with such a captivating gayety, 
that it was fascinating to hear him talk. . . . He had more of the appearance, in 
all respects, of a damaged young man than a well-preserved elderly one. 
There was an easy negligence in his manner, and even in his dress (his hair 
carelessly disposed, and his neckerchief loose and flowing, as I have seen artists 
paint their own portraits), which I could not separate from the idea of a roman- 
tic youth who had undergone some unique process of depreciation. 

Mr. Skimpole is constantly getting into debt, and as constantly 

being helped out by somebody whom he never seriously thanks. 

He says of himself, — 

" I am constantly being bailed out, like a boat ; or paid off, like a ship's com- 
pany. Somebody always does it for me. / can't do it, you know, for I never 
have any money ; but Somebody does it. I get out by Somebody's means. I 
am not like the starling: I get out. If you were to ask me who Somebody is, 
upon my word, I could n't tell you. Let us drink to Somebody. God bless 
himl" 

Mr. Skimpole is arrested for debt. He turns the matter over to 
his friends, completely washing his hands of the entire affair, and 
smiles benevolently on them as they pay him out. His furniture is 
seized. He remonstrates with his landlord, informino; him that the 
articles are not paid for, and that his friend Jarndyce will have to 
suffer if they are taken. No attention being paid to this, he is 
greatly amused at " the oddity of the thing," not understanding 
how a man can wish to pay himself " at another man's expense." 
On another occasion he tells Mr. Jarndyce, — 

" My butcher says to me, he wants that little bill. It 's a part of the uncon- 
scious poetry of the man's nature, that he always calls it a ' little ' bill to make 
the payment appear easy to both of us. I reply to the butcher, ' My good friend, 
if you knew it, you are paid. You have n't had the trouble of coming to ask for 
the little bill. You are paid. I mean it.' " 

" But suppose," says [Mr. Jarndyce,] laughing, " he had meant the meat in 
the bill instead of providing it." 

" My dear Jarndyce," he returned, " you surprise me. You take the butcher's 
position. A butcher I once dealt with occupied that very ground. Says he. 
* Sir, why did you eat spring-lamb at eighteen-pence a pound ? ' — ' Why did I 
eat spring-lamb at eighteen-pence a pound, my honest friend ? ' — said I, naturally 
amazed by the question. ' I like spring-lamb.' This was so far convincing. 
' Well, sir,' says he, ' I wish I had meant the lamb as you mean the money 1 ' — 
'My good fellow,' said I, 'pray let us reason like intellectual beings. How 
could that be? It was impossible. You /iad got the lamb: I have no^ got the 
money. You could n't really mean the lamb without sending it in; whereas I 
can and do really mean the money without paying it.' He had not a word. 
There was an end of the subject." 

Bkimpole, Mrs. Wife of Harold Skimpole; a delicate, high- 
nosed invalid, suffering under a complication of disorders. (Ch. 
xliii.) 

SO 



350 S?)e 23icltens Bictiongrs. 

Skirapole, Kitty. Mr. Skimpole's " Comedy " daughter, who 
sings a little, but don't play. (Ch. xliii.) 

Skimpole, Laura. ]VIr. Skimpole's " Sentiment '* daughter, who 
plays a little, but don't sing. (Ch. xliii.) 

Smallweed, Bartholomew, jocularly called Small and Chick 

Weed, to express a fledgling, as it were. Grandson of Mr. and 

Mrs. Smallweed, twin-brother of Judy, and a friend of Mr. William 

Guppy, from whom he sponges dinners as often as he can. (Ch. 

XX, xxi, xxxiii, xxxix, Iv, Ixiii.) 

He is a town-made article, of small stature and weazen features, but may be 
perceived from a considerable distance by means of his very tall hat. To be- 
come a Guppy is the object of his ambition. He dresses at that gentleman (by 
whom he is patronized), talks at him, walks at him, founds himself entirely on 
him. . . . He is a weird changeling, to whom years are nothing. He stands pre- 
cociously possessed by centuries of owlish wisdom. If he ever lay in a cradle, it 
seems as if he must have lain there in a tail-coat. He has an old, old eye ; . . . 
and he drinks and smokes in a monkeyish way ; and his neck is stiff in his col- 
lar; and he is never to be taken in; and he knows all about it, whatever it is. 

Smallweed, Grandfather. An old man who has been in the 
" discounting profession," but has become superannuated, and nearly 
helpless. His mind, however, is unimpaired, and still holds, as well 
as it ever did, the first four rules of arithmetic, and a certain small 
collection of the hardest facts. His favorite amusement is to throw 
at the head of his venerable partner a spare cushion, with which he 
is provided, whenever she makes an allusion to money, — a subject ' 
on which he is particularly sensitive. The exertion this requires 
has the effect of always throwing him back into his chair like a 
broken puppet, and makes it necessary that he should undergo the 
two operations, at the hands of his grand-daughter, of being shaken 
up like a great bottle, and poked and punched like a great bolster. 
(Ch. xxi, xxvi, xxvii, xxxiii, xxxiv, liv, Iv, Ixiii.) 

Smallweed, Grandmother. His wife; so far fallen into a 
childish state as to have regained such infantine graces as a total 
want of observation, memory, understanding and interest, and an 
eternal disposition to fall asleep over the the fire, and into it. (Ch. 
xxi, xxvi, xxvii, xxxiii, xxxiv, Ixiii.) 

Smallweed, Judy. Grand-daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Smallweed, 
and twin-sister of Bartholomew. She is so indubitably his sister, 
that the two kneaded into one would hardly make a young person 
of average proportions. (Ch. xxi, xxvi, xxvii, xxxiii, xxxiv, Ixiii.) 

Bnagsby, Mr. A law-stationer in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street ; 
a mild, bald, timid man, tending to meekness and obesity, with a 



asieafe J^ouse. 851 

shining head and a scrubby clump of black hair sticking out at the 
back. Being a timid man, he is accustomed to cough with a vari- 
ety of expressions, and so to save words. (Ch. x, xi, xix, xx, xxii, 
XXV, xxxiii, xlii, xlvii, liv, lix.) 
^nagsby, Mrs. His wife ; a short shrewish woman, something too 
violently compressed about the waist, and with a sharp nose, like a 
sharp autumn evening, inclining to be frosty towards the end. 
(Cli. x, xi, xix, XX, xxii, xxv, xxxiii, xlii, xvlii, liv, lix.) 

Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are not only one bone and one flesh, but, to the neigh- 
bors' thinking, one voice too. That voice appearing to proceed from Mrs. 
Snagsby alone, is heard in Cook's Court very often. . . . Mr. Snagsby refers 
every thing not in the practical mysteries of the business to Mrs. Snagsby. She 
manages the money, reproaches the tax-gatherers, appoints the times and 
places of devotion on Sundays, licenses Mr. Snagsby's entertainments, and ac- 
knovpledges no responsibility as to what she thinks fit to provide for dinner. . . . 
Rumor, always flying, bat-like, about Cook's Court, and skimming in and out at 
everybody's windows, does say that Mrs. Snagsby is jealous and inquisitive; 
and that Mr. Snagsby is sometimes worried out of house and home ; and that, if 
he had the spirit of a mouse, he would n't stand it. 

Squod, Phil. A man employed in Mr. George's shooting-gallery. 

He is a little man, with a face all crushed together, who appears, from a cer- 
tain blue and speckled appearance that one of his cheeks presents, to have been 
blown up, in the way of business, at some odd time or times. . . . On the spec- 
kled side of his face he has no eyebrow, and on the other side he has a bushy 
black one ; which want of uniformity gives him a very singular and rather sinis- 
ter appearance. Every thing seems to have happened to his hands that could 
possibly take place, consistently with the retention of all the fingers; for they 
are notched and seamed, and crumpled all over. . . . He has a curious vpay of 
limping round the gallery with his shoulder against the wall, and tacking off at 
objects he wants to lay hold of, instead of going straight to them, which has 
left a smear all round the four walls, conventionally called " Phil's mark." 

(Ch. xxi, xxiv, xxvi, xxxiv, xlvii, Ivi, Ixvi.) 

Stables, The Honorable Bob. Cousin to Sir Leicester Ded- 
lock, (Ch. ii, xxviii, xl, Iviii.) 

Bummerson, Esther. Protegee of Mr. Jarndyce ; afterwards 
the wife of Allan Woodcourt. She is the narrator of a part of the 
story, and is represented as a orudent, wisejlttle^body, a notable 
h puse-^ ife, a self -denying frie nd, and a univ ^ ersal favorite . She 
proves to be an illegitimate daughter of Lady Dedlock and Captain 
Hawdon. According to Doctor Shelton Mackenzie (Life of Dick- 
ens, p. 203), this character is supposed to have been drawn from real 
life, and to have been intended as a portrait of Miss Sophia Iselin, 
author of a volume of poems published in 1847. (Ch. iii-vi, viii, 



352 8^1)5 Bicfeens JBictfonarj. 

ix, xiii-xv, xvii-xix, xxiii, xxiv, xxix-xxxi, xxxv-xxxviii, xliii-xlv, 

xlvii, 1-lii, liv, Ivi, Ivii, lix-lxv, Ixvii.) 
Swills, Little. A red-faced comic vocalist engaged at the Har- 
monic meetings at the Sol's Arms. (Ch. xi, xix, xxxii, xxxiii, 

xxxix.) 
Tangle, Mr. A lawyer, who knows more about the case of Jarn 

dyce and Jarndyce than anybody, and is supposed never to have 

read any thing else since he left school. (Ch. i.) 
Thomas. Sir Leicester Dedlock's groom. (Ch. xl.) 
Toughey. See Jo. 
Tulkinghorn, Mr. An attomey-at-law, and a solicitor of the 

Court of Chancery, who is the legal adviser of Sir Leicester 

i/ Dedlock. 

The old gentleman is rusty to look at, but is reputed to have made good thrift 
out of aristocratic marriage-settlements and aristocratic wills, and to be very 
rich. He is surrounded by a mysterious halo of family confidences, of which 
he is known to be the silent depositary. . . . He is of what is called the old 
school, — a phrase generally meaning any school that seems never to have been 
young, — and wears knee-breeches tied with ribbons, and gaiters or stockings. 
One peculiarity of his black clothes and of his black stockings, be they silk or 
worsted, is, that they never shine. Mute, close, irresponsive to any glancing 
light, his dress is like himself. He never converses when not professionally 
consulted. He is found sometimes, speechless, but quite at home, at corners of 
dinner-tables in great country-houses, and near doors of drawing-rooms, con- 
cerning Avhich the fashionable intelligence is eloquent, where everybody knows 
him, and where half the peerage stops to say, " How do you do, Mr. Tulking- 
horn ? " He receives these salutations with gravity, and buries them along with 
the rest of his knowledge. 

Becoming acquainted with the early history of Lady Ded- 
lock, he quietly informs her of the fact, and of his intention to 
reveal it to her husband, which causes her to flee from home, and 
results in her death. Shortly after this disclosure, he is murdered 
in his room by a French waiting-maid, whom he has made use of to 
discover certain family secrets, and whom he refuses to reward 
to the amount she desires. (Ch. ii, vii, x-xii, xv, xvi, xxii, xxiv, 
xxvii, xxix, xxxiii, xxxiv, xxxvi, xl-xlii, xliv, xlvii, xlviii.) 
Turveydrop, Mr. " A very gentlemanly man, celebrated almost 
/ /everywhere for his deportment." Mr. Hotten (" Charles Dickens : 
/ The Story of his Life," p. 214) says that this character " was always 
believed to portray 'the first gentleman in Europe,' his sacred 
Majesty King George the Fourth ; " but, according to Doctor Shel- 
ton Mackenzie ("Life of Dickens," p. 206), " Some friends of Mr. 
John Dickens thought they recognized certain of his characteristics, 




MR. TVTRVEYDRO'P AND HIS SON. 



asieafe Ji^ouse. 353 

as regarded deportment, in the sketch of that eminent professor, 
Mr. Turveydrop." (Ch. xiv, xxiii, xxx, xxxviii, 1, Ivii.) 

He was a fat old gentleman with a false complexion, false teeth, false whis- 
kers, and a wig. He had a fur collar, and he had a padded breast to his coat, 
which only wanted a star, or a broad blue ribbon, to be complete. He was 
pinched in, and swelled out, and got up, and strapped down, as much as he 
could possibly bear. He had such a neckcloth on (puffing his very eyes out of 
their natural shape), and his chin and even his ears so sunk into it, that it 
seemed as though he must inevitably double up, if it were cast loose. He had 
under his arm a hat of great size and weight, shelving downward from the 
crown to the brim; and in his hand a pair of white gloves, with which he 
flapped it, as he stood poised on one leg, in a high-shouldered, round-elbowed 
state of elegance not to be surpassed. He had a cane, he had an eye-glass, he 
had rings, he had wristbands, he had every thing but any touch of nature. He 
was not like youth, he was not like age : he was like nothing in the world but a 
model of deportment. 

He had married a meek little dancing-mistress, with a tolerable connection 
(having never in his life before done any thing but deport himself), and had 
worked her to death, or had, at the best, suflFered her to work herself to death, 
to maintain him in those expenses which were indispensable to his position. 
At once to exhibit his Deportment to the best models, and to keep the best 
models constantly before himself, he had found it necessary to frequent all 
public places of fashionable and lounging resort, to be seen at Brighton and 
elsewliere at fashionable times, and to lead an idle life in the very best clothes. 
To enable him to do this, the affectionate little dancing- mistress had toiled and 
labored, and would have toiled and labored to that hour, if her strength had 
lasted BO long. For, ... in spite of the man's absorbing selfishness, his wife 
(overpowered by his Deportment) had, to the last, believed in him, and had on 
her death-bed, in the most moving terms, confided him to their son as one who 
had an inextinguishable claim upon him, and whom he could never regard with 
too much pride and deference. The son, inheriting his mother's belief, and 
having the Deportment always before him, had lived and grown in the same 
faith, and now, at thirty years of age, worked for his father twelve hours a 
day, and looked up to him with veneration on the old imaginary pinnacle. 

Turveydrop, Prince. His son ; so named in remembrance of the 
Prince Regent, whom Mr. Turveydrop the elder adored on account 
of his deportment. He is a little blue-eyed fair man, of youthful 
appearance, with flaxen hair parted in the middle, and curling at 
the ends all round his head. He marries Miss Caddy Jellyby. 
(Cb. xiv, xvii, xxiii, xxx, xxxviii, 1, Ivii.) 

Vholes, Mr. Richard Carstone's solicitor ; a man who is always 
" putting his shoulder to the wheel," without any visible results, 
and is continually referring to the fact that he is a widower, with 
three daughters and an aged father in the Vale of Taunton, 
who are dependent on him for their support. (Ch. xjLxvii, xxxix, 
xiv, li, Ixi, Ixii, Ixv.) 
30* 



354 2C|)e ©icfeens SBfctfonarg. 

[He was] a sallow man, with pinched lips that looked as if they were cold, a 
red eruption here and there upon his face, tall and thin, about fifty years of age, 
high-shouldered and stooping. Dressed in black, black-gloved, and buttoned 
to the chin, there was nothing so remarkable in him as a lifeless manner and a 
slow, fixed way he had of looking. . . . 

Weevle, Mr. See Jobling, Tony. 

Wisk, Miss. A friend of Mrs. Jellyby's, betrothed to Mr. Quale. 
Her " mission " is to show the world that woman's mission is man's 
mission, and that the only genuine mission of both man and 
woman is to be always moving declaratory resolutions about things 
in general at public meetings. (Ch. xxx.) 

Woodcourt, Allan. A young surgeon, who afterwards marries 
Esther Summerson. (Ch. xi, xiii, xiv, xvii, xxx, xxxv, xlvi, xlvii, 
1-lii, lix-lxi, Ixiv, Ixv, Ixvii.) 

Woodcourt, Mrs. His mother; a handsome old lady, small, 
sharp, upright, and trim, with bright black eyes ; very proud of her 
descent from an illustrious Welsh ancestor, named Morgan-ap-Ker- 
rig. (Ch. xvii, xxx, Ix, Ixii, Ixiv.) 



asUafe JBouse. 355 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 

Chapter I. The High Court of Chancery in session, with the suit of Jamdyce and 
Jarndyce; thechancellorpostpones the hearing. — II. Mr. Tulkinghom reports some new 
proceedings in the case to Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock ; Lady Dedlock asks who copied 
the affidavit he reads ; she swoons. -4^111. Esther Summerson narrates the history of her 
childhood, under the care of her godmother; she is informed of the stain upon her birth ; 
she is introduced to Mr. Kenge; Miss Barbary dies, and Esther learns she was her aunt; 
Mr. Jamdyce's offer to educate Esther; dn her journey to Reading, Esther is roughly be- 
friended by a gentleman in the coach ; she spends six years in Miss Donny's establishment, 
when Mr. Jarndyce summons her to London, as a companion for his ward; Esther meets 
Ada Clare and Richard Carstone, and they go before the chancellor; Miss Elite bestows 
her b.essing. — IV. Esther, Ada, and Richard go to Mrs. Jellyby's to spend the night, and 
find her very busy with African matters; Caddy Jellyby complains to Esther of the Afri- 
can business, and falls asleep with her head on Esther's lap. — V. The young people en- 
counter ]SIiss Elite again, who invites them to her lodging, over Mr. Krook's, to wliom she 
introduces them ; Mr. Krook relates the story of Tom Jarndyce and his suicide ; Miss Elite 
shows her birds; old Krook surprises Esther by writing out "Jarndyce" and'" Bleak 
House," letter by letter. — VI. On the road to Bleak House the young people receive notes 
of welcome from Mr. Jarndyce ; Esther recognizes in Mr. Jarndyce her stage-coach friend 
of six years before; description of Bleak House; Esther receives the housekeeping keys; 
Mr. Skimpole is presented, and his character described; Skimpole is arrested for debt, and 
released by Esther and Richard, who pay the debt ; Mr. Jarndyce cautions them against 
Mr. Skimpole's weaknesses ; Mr. Jarndyce experiences sudden changes in the wind. — VITT" 
Mrs. Rouncewell, housekeeper at Chesney Wold, conversing with her grandson, receives 
a call ft*om Mr. Guppy, who desires to see the house; he knows Lady Dedlock's picture, 
but don't know how he know§It; Mrs. Rouncewell relates to her grandson and Rosa the 
story of the Ghost's Walk. -# VIII. Mr. Skimpole discourses on the bee; Mr. Jarndyce 
introduces Esther to the Growlery, and explains the Chancery business ; Esther finds her 
advice sought in every thing; Mrs. Pardiggle calls with her family ; she explains her mis- 
sion and her energy in it; Esther and Ada accompany Mrs. Pardiggle on her visit to the 
brickmaker's ; Jenny's infant dies; sympathy of Jenny's friend, and Esther and Ada. — 
IX. Richard's reasoning to prove that he makes money; Mr. Boythorn arrives at Bleak 
House; his account of his lawsuit with Sir Leicester Dedlock; Mr. Guppy calls upon Mr. 
Boythorn on business from Kenge and Carboy; he asks to sec Esther alone, and " makes 
an offer," which she declines. — X. Mr. Tulkinghom calls on Mr. Snagsby to ascertain 
who copied an affidavit in Jarndyce and Jarndyce; Mr. Snagsby conducts him to Krook's 
house, where the copyist lodges. — XI. Gaining admission to his room, Mr. Tulkinghom 
finis him dead from an overdose of opium; Mr. Snagsby relates what he knows of the 
deceased ; Mr. Tulkinghom suggests a search for papers, but none are found ; the coroner 
sets aside Jo's evidence; Jo watches the dead man's grave. -r- XII. Sir Leicester and Lady 
Dedlock, on the road home from Paris, receive Mr. Tulkinghorn's message that he had 
seen the person who copied the affidavit; Lady Dedlock takes notice of Rosa, which gives 
Hortense offence; Mr. Tulkinghom arrives at Chesney Wold, and gives them an account 
of the dead copyist. -}- XII [. Richard, choosing a profession, decides to become a surgeon; 
Mr. Kenge recommends Mr. Bayham Badger, and Richard is placed with him ; Esther is 
worried by Mr. Guppy 's attentions; Mr. Jarndyce and his wards dine at Mr. Bay ham 
Badger's ; Ada confides to Esther her engagement to Richard ; and they all consult Mr. 
Jarndyce. —XIV. Richard begins to trust to the success of the suit in Chancery ; Caddy 
Jellyby calls upon Esther and Ada ; she informs them of her engagement ; Esther accom- 
panies her to Mr. Turveydrop's academy, and is introduced to Prince Turveydrop ; Mr. 
Turveydrop, senior, exhibits his "Deportment; " Caddy shows a desire to learn house- 
keeping; going to Miss Elite's room to meet Mr. Jarndyce and Ada, Esther learns of the 
suicide of Mr. Krook's lodger; Mr. Allan Woodcourt appears as Miss Elite's mcuK^al at- 
tendant; Miss Elite receives a pension from an unknown source; Krook repeats the names 
>f Miss Elite's birds; his attempts to teach himself to read. — XV. Mr. Skimpole's method 



356 8E|)e Bfckens Dictfonar^. 

of paying his debts ; he Informs Esther of the death of " Coavinsos ; " the party visit Bell 
Yard to find Neckett's children; how Charley takes care of her brother and sister; Mrs. 
Blinder explains the situation of the family ; Mr. Gridley's suit in Equity ; Mr. Skimpole's 
commentary on this state of things. — XVI. Jo, sweeping his crossing, is accosted by a 
lady, to whom, at her request, he points out the places associated with the suicide, and is 
rewarded with a sovereign. — XVII. Richard becomes languid in the profession he has 
chosen ; he argues to Esther that it is of little consequence, being only a kind of probation 
until their suit is decided; he thinks " the law is the boy for him;" Mr. Janidyce tells 
Esther all he knows of ber early history ; Mr. Woodcourt comes to take leave before going 
to India; Caddy Jellj'by brings the flowers left by Mr. Woodcourt for Esther. — XVIII. 
Richard shows his careless disposition in money-matters ; Mr. Skimpole's idea of property ; 
they visit Mr. Boythom, and receive a characteristic welcome ; Esther experiences pecu- 
liar emotions on seeing Lady Dedlock in church ; the same feelings return on meeting her 
in a lodge where they take shelter from the rain ; how the pride of Hortense was wounded, 
and how she revenged herself, — XIX. Mr. and Mrs. Chadband take tea with the Snagsbys; 
Mr. Chadband discourses; a constable brings Jo to Mr. Snagsby's, because he won't 
"move on;" Mr. Guppy appears on the scene; Jo tells the story of the lady and the 
sovereign; Mr. Chadband improves the occasion, and Jo "moves on. " — XX. Mr. Guppy 
Invites his friends Smallweed andJobling to dine with him; jMr. Guppy proposes to Job- 
ling to apply for copying to Snagsby, and also to take the vacant lodgings at Krook's; Mr. 
Guppy presents his friend to Krook, under the name of Weevle, and he takes possession 
of the room.— XXI. The Smallweed family introduced ; Mr. George calls to pay the interest 
money on a loan from Mr. Smallweed's " friend in the city ; " their talk conceniing Cap- 
tain Hawdon; returning to his shooting-gallery, George is received by Phil Squod. — 
XXII. ^Ir. Snagsby, repeating to Mr. Tulkinghom Jo's story of the sovereign, is surprised 
to find Mr. Bucket in company; Mr. Bucket and Snagsby go to "Tom-all-Alone's." in 
search of Jo; thej' find Jenny and her friend; finding Jo, tliey return with him to Mr. 
Tulkinghorn's rooms, where Jo recognizes the dress of the lady wlio bestowed the sover- 
eign, but not the lady herself, in the presence of Mademoiselle Hortense. — XXIII. Mr. 
Jamdyce and his wards return to Bleak House ; Hortense oflfers herself to Esther as lady's 
maid; Richard is again unsettled, and now makes choice of tlie army; Caddy consults 
Esther on breaking the news of her engagement to Mr. Turveydrop and Mrs. Jellyby; 
Mr. Turveydrop is overcome, but soon recovers; Mrs. Jellyby is too much absorbed in 
Borrioboola-Gha to show any interest in her daughter; Esther returns home, and finds 
Charley engaged as her maid. — XXIV. Mr. Jamdyce desires Richard and Ada to cancel 
their engagement before Richard joins his regiment; Mr. George calls to teach Richard 
fencing, and thinks he has seen Esther before ; Esther and Richard visit the Court of Chan- 
cery ; Mr. Guppy introduces Mrs. Chadband, formerly Mrs. Rachael; Mr. George appears 
in search of Miss Elite, whom Gridley, who is hiding at George's to avoid arrest, wants to 
see; Esther and Richard accompany them to George's; Mr. Bucket obtains admittance in 
disguise ; death of Gridley. — XXV. Mrs. Snagsby becomes suspicious and jealous ; Mr. 
Chadband " improves a tough subject; " Jo is fed by Guster, and dismissed by Snagsby 
with the gift of half a crown. —jj^XVI. Mr. George and Phil Squod converse about the 
country; Phil's account of his early life; Mr. George is visited at his gallery by Grand- 
father Smallweed and Judy; Mr. Smallweed wants to obtain a specimen of Captain Haw- 
don's writing for a lawyer ; Mr. George accompanies him to the lawj'cr's, who proves to 
be Mr. Tulkinghom. — XXVII. Mr. Tulkinghom ofi"ers him a reward for the writing he 
possesses; Mr. George declines, but proposes to take a friend's advice; the "old girl" 
gives Geoi-ge Mr. Bagnet's opinion, which confirms his own ; Mr. George returns to Mr. 
Tulkinghorn's, who uses high words to him in the presence of a clerk. —XXVIII. Sir 
Leicester and Lady Dedlock, after their visitors retire, give audience to Mrs. Rouncewell'a 
son; he speaks of the attachment of his son for Rosa, and requests to be allowed to remove 
her from Chesney Wold ; Sir Leicester declines ; Lady Dedlock invites Rosa's confidence, 
ana promises to make her happy if she can. — XXIX. The young man of the name of 
Guppy calls on Lady Dedlock ; he mentions the remarkable resemblance of Esther Sum- 
merson to my lady, relates what he has discovered of her history, —that her real name is 
Hawdon, and that he has found that the deceased law-writer's was the same ; he promises 
to bring my lady Mr. Hawdon's papers, of which he will gain possession that uight; Lady 



asiealt J^ouse. 357 

Dedlock's secret agony for her child. — XXX. Mrs. Woodcourt visits Bleak House ; Caddy 
Jellyby spends three weeks at Bleak House, preparing for her wedding ; Caddy and Prince 
are married. — XXXI. Charley hiforms Esther of the return of Jenny and Liz, and a sick 
boy with them ; Esther and Charley go to Jenny's, and find Jo ; he is tenifled at Esther's 
resemblance to the lady who gave him the sovereign ; they take Jo home, where they find 
Mr. Skimpole, who advises turning him into the street ; Jo disappears in the night ; Esther 
nurses Charley through a dangerous illness. — XXXII. And is taken with the same disease 
herself; Mr. Snagsby, passing through Cook's Court at night, calls Mr. Weevle's attention 
to a peculiar smell about the place ; Mr. Guppy and Mr. Weevle, waiting the appointed 
time for receiving the packet of Captain Hawdon's letters from Krook, are disgusted by 
the taint in the atmosphere ; keephig his appointment, they find Krook dead by spontane- 
ous combustion. — XXXIII. Mr. Snagsby is followed to the Sol's Arms by his wife, who 
takes him home again ; Mr. Guppy recommends Weevle to remain in Krook's house, and 
keep possession of the property; unexpected appearance of heirs to the estate in the per- 
sons of the Smallweed family ; Mr. Guppy carries the news of Krook's death, and the 
probable destruction of the papers, to Lady Dedlock ; retiring, he meets Mr. Tulkinghorn. 
— XXXIV. George receives due notice of the maturity of his loan from Grandfiither Small- 
weed ; Mr. Bagnet and his wife, coming in to renew his draft, find Mr. George in this dilem- 
ma; Mr. Baguet gives his opinion, through the " old girl," that they had better see Mr. 
Smallweed at once ; Mr. Smallweed refuses to renew the loan, and breaks the pipe of 
peace; they go to Mr. Tulkinghom's, where they meet Mrs. Rouncewell coming out; to 
free himself from Smallweed's claims, Mr. George sells Mr. Tulkinghorn the specimen of 
Captain Hawdon's writing; George advises Woolwich to honor his mother. — XXXV. 
Esther's recovery; her first intei*view with Mr. Jarndyce; she receives a call from Miss 
Flite; Miss Flite's accoimt of her case in Chancery, and her warning about Richard; the 
story of Mr. Woodcourt's heroic bravery. — XXXVI. Esther and C liar ley go to Mr. Boy- 
thorn's ; Esther first sees the reflection of her face scarred by the disease ; Esther, resting 
in the wood, is met by Lady Dedlock, who owns her as her child, but tells her they must 
never meet again ; Esther's first meeting with Ada since her recovery. — XXXVII. Richard 
sends fo{ Esther to meet him at the Dedlock Arms ; Mr. Skimpole appears as Richard's 
artless friend ; Esther has an inters'iew with Richard, who shows increasing dislike for Mr. 
Jarndyce, and increasing confidence in the early decision of the suit ; Ada writes to Rich- 
ard, praying him to relinquifch his hope from the suit ; Esther tries to give Mr. Skimpole 
an idea of responsibility; Mr. Vholes, Richard's new legal adviser, appears, Mr. Skimpole 
showing how he introduced him to Richard ; Mr. Vholes informs Richard that his cause i3 
coming on the next morning, and they return to town immediately. — XXXVIII. Esther 
goes to London ; she calls on Caddy Jellyby, and dances with the apprentices ; Esther and 
Caddy call on Mr. Guppy ; Esther requests a private interview with Mr. Guppy, and cures 
that gentleman's passion by showing her face; she requests him to give up all idea of 
serving her through any discovery relating' to her parentage. —XXXIX. Mr. Vholes's 
respectability; interview between Vholes and Richard, in which Vholes appears with 
" his shoulder to the wheel ; " Mr. Guppy and Mr. Weevle go to Krook's house to remove 
Mr. Weevle's effects ; they find Mr. Tulkinghorn looking on as the Smallweeds examine 
Krook's papers; Mr. Guppy declines to explain to Mr. Tulkinghorn the business he had 
with Lady Dedlock. — XL. Sir Leicester and his retinue return to Chesney Wold; Sir 
Leicester discusses with Volumnla the state of the pending election; Mr. Tulkinghorn 
arrives with the news of the defeat of Sir Leicester's party, and that Mr. Rouncewell and 
his son were very active in aiding that result; Mi*. Tulkinghorn tells a story bearing on 
Rosa's position as Lady Dedlock's maid. — XLI. Mr. Tulkinghorn, on retiring to his room, 
is sought by Lady Dedlock ; she asks how long he has known her secret, and how far it is 
known to others ; she informs him of her design to leave Chesney Wold at once ; he coun- 
sels her to remain just as before in all respects, and promises to take no steps to expose 
her without warning. — XLII. Mr. Snagsby complains to Mr. Tulkinghorn of the persecu- 
tions of Mademoiselle Hortense ; Mr. Tulkinghorn threatens to have Hortense put in con- 
finement if she continues her importunities. — XLIII. Esther suggests to her guardian 
that Mr. Skimpole is not a safe adviser for Richard ; they visit Mr. Skimpole at his home ; 
Mr. Skimpole introduces his family; he returns with Mr. Jarndyce to Bleak House; they 
keceive a call from Sir Leicester Dedlock ; Esther's agitation in his presence ; Esther tells 



358 Sl)e B^^'^ttens ISfctfonara?. 

her guardian of the relationship between herself and Lady Dedlock. — XLIV. Mr. Jarn- 
flyce sends Esther a letter, with her permission, asking her to become the mistress of Bleak 
House; Esther destroys the flowers sent her by Mr. Woodcourt; she answers yes to Mr. 
Jamdyce's letter. — XLV. Mr. Vholes calls upon Mr. Jarndyce, and reports the sad state 
of Richard's affairs; Esther decides to go and see Richard at Deal, where he is stationed, 
and she sets out with Charley for her companion ; she finds Richard looking worn and 
haggard; Richard grows more and more angry with Mr. Jarndyce as the cause of his 
trials, and convinces Esther of the necessity of his withdrawing from the armj*; Esther 
recognizes Allan Woodcourt among some gentlemen landing from an Indiaman just ar- 
rived ; she has an interview with him, and requests him to befriend Richard, which he 
promises to do. — XLVI. Going through Tom-all-Alone's, Mr. "Woodcourt finds Jenny with 
a bruised head, which he dresses for her; they pursue and overtake Jo, and Allan hears 
from Jenny the story of his having been taken in at Bleak House, and Esther catching his 
disease; Jo gives the reason of his escaping from Bleak House, and Allan takes charge of 
h'.m. — XLVII. Jo tells Allan the storj' of the lady in the veil; Woodcourt consults Miss 
P-ite to find a place of refuge for Jo, and she recommends George ; Mr. George takes hira 
in; George expresses to Mr. Woodcourt his feelings toward Tulkinghoru; Jo sends a 
message to Mr. Snagsby, who calls to see him; Jo makes his last request, and dies. — 
XLVIII. Lady Dedlock dismisses Rosa; Mr. Rouncewell calls, by Lady Dedlock's appoiVit- 
ment, and she relinquishes Rosa to his care; Mr. Tulkinghom, who is present at the 
inters'iew, wanis Lady Dedlock that he considers her course a departure from her promise, 
and that he shall soon undeceive Sir Leicester; Air. Tulkinghom goes home to his rooms, 
and in the morning is found murdered, lying on the floor. — XLIX. Mr. Bagnet prepares 
a feast on his wife's birthday ; George joins them in dull spirits, which he accounts for by 
Jo's death; Mr. Bucket adds himself to the party, and makes himself friendly; Bucket 
arrests George for the murder of Mr. Tulkinghom. — L. Caddy Jellyby, who has an 
infant, and is ill, sends for Esther, and Mr. Jarndyce and Ada go with her to London ; 
Caddy recovers under Mr. Woodcourt's medical care ; Esther notices a change in Ada's 
manner towards her; Mr. Woodcourt applies to Vholes for Richard's address. —LI. He 
finds him next door; Esther and Ada visit Richard at his rooms; Ada acknowledges her 
secret marriage to Richard, and Esther returns alone; Esther tells Mr. Jarndyce. — LIT. Mr. 
Woodcourt tells Mr. Jarndyce and Esther of the murder of Mr. Tulkinghom and the arrest 
of Mr. George ; the three visit him in prison ; George is determined to stand by the exact 
truth, and have no lawyer ; Mr. and Mrs. Bagnet also come to see George; George mentions 
the resemblance of Esther to a figure he saw on Mr. Tulkinghom's stairs at the time of the 
murder. —LIU. Mrs. Bagnet reasons that George's mother is alive, and sets off for Lin- 
colnshire in search of her; Mr. Bucket watches his wife and their lodger ; Bucket receives 
anonymous letters containing Lady Dedlock's name ; he informs Sir Leicester that he haj 
the case nearly worked up. — LIV. Next morning, Mr. Bucket inftrms Sir Leicester that 
the case is complete ; he proceeds to relate the conduct of Lady Dedlock, and her fear of 
Tulkinghom, when they are interrupted by the arrival of Smallweed, the Chadbands, and 
Mrs. Snagsby, who demand to be bought off' from the knowledge they have gained of 
Lady Dedlock's story; Bucket dismisses them, and admits Mademoiselle Hortense, whom 
he accuses of the murder, and shows how he has worked up the evidence. — LV. Mrs. 
Bagnet brings Mrs. Rouncewell, Mr. George's mother, to London ; the mother and son in 
prison ; Mrs. Rouncewell informs Lady Dedlock that she has found her son, and appeals to 
her for pity; Mr. Guppy requests an interview with Lady Dedlock, and informs her that 
Mr. Smallweed and others, probably, know all she would have concealed ; flight of Lady 
Dedlock. — LVI. Sir Leicester is struck with paralysis; Mr. Bucket interprets his signs, 
and sets off' in pursuit of Lady Dedlock ; he goes to Mr. Jarndyce's house, and gets Esther 
'o accompany him. — LVIL Bucket tracks Lady Dedlock to the brickmaker's at St. Al- 
ban's; they are told she went north, while Jenny went to London, and they follow on 
northward in search of her; Bucket at fault. — LVIII. He decides to follow the other one, 
and returns to London ; what Rumor says of Lady Dedlock ; Sir Leicester insists on seeing 
Mrs. Rouncewell's son George ; they watch through the day and night for Lady Dedlock's 
return; Esther and Mr. Bucket reach London. — LIX. They trace the person they are fol- 
lowing to Mr. Snagsby 's, meeting Mr. Woodcourt by the way ; they find a letter for Esther, 
written by Lady Dedlock ; following Guster's directions, they find Lady Dedlock lying 



dead at the gate of the burying-ground. — LX. Esther leams from her guardian that Mr. 
Woodcourt has decided to remain in England; Miss Flite makes Richard her executor; 
Mr. Vholes discusses Richard's interest with Esther; Ada confides her secret to Esther. 

— LXI. Esther requests Mr. Skimpolenot to go to Richard's anymore, and attempts to 
remonstrate with him for betraying Jo to Bucket; Mr. Skimpole drops from this history; 
Allan Woodcourt declares his love to Esther. — LXII. Esther fixes the day for becoming 
mistress of Bleak House ; Mr. Bucket Introduces Mr. Smallweed, with a newly-discovered 
will in Jamdyce. — LXIII. George makes the acquaintance of his brother and his family. 

— LXrV. Mr. Jarndyce goes to Yorkshire to look after Mr. Woodcourt's business, and 
sends for Esther to follow him ; he shows her the house he has prepared for Allan, which 
he has named Bleak House, and relinquishes her to Woodcourt; Mr. Guppy, backed by 
his mother and Mr. Jobling, renews his proposal. — LXV. Jarndyce and Jamdyce is over 
for good; Richard is reconciled to Mr. Jarndyce, and "begins the world." — LXVI. Sir 
Leicester's life at Chesney Wold. — LXVII. Esther closes her narrative. 



^axh ^xmt^. 



FOR THESE TIMES. 



This tale was originally published in " Household Words ; " the first chapter 
making its appearance in No. 210, for April, 1854, and the last in No. 229, for Aug. 
12, 1854. In the same year it was brought out independently, in one octavo 
volume of .352 pages, and was inscribed to Thomas Carlyle. In a letter to Mr. 
Chai'les Knight (quoted in his " Passages of a Working Life "), Mr. Dickens thus 
explains his design in writing this story : — 

My satire is against those who see figures and averages, and nothing else, — the repre- 
sentatives of the wickedest and most enormous vice of this time; the men who, through 
long years to come, will do more to damage the really useful truths of political economy 
than I could do (if I tried) in my whole life ; the addled heads who would take the 
average of cold in the Crimea during twelve months as a reason for clothing a soldier in 
nankeen on a night when he would be frozen to death in fur, and who would comfort the 
laborer in travelling twelve miles a day to and from his work by telling him that the 
average distance of one inhabited place from another on the whole area of England is not 
more than four miles. 

" Let us not lose the use of Dickens's wit and insight," says Mr. Ruskin (' Unto this 
Last,' ch. i.), " because he chooses to speak in a circle of stage-flre. He is entirely right 
in his main drift and purpose in ever3' book he has written ; and all of them, but especially 
' Hard Times,' should be studied with close and earnest care by persons interested in social 
questions. They will find much that is partial, and, because partial, apparently unjust; 
but if they examine all the evidence on the other side, which Dickens seems to overlook, 
it will appear, after all their trouble, that his view was the finally right one, grossly and 
sharply told." 



CEARACTERS INTRODUCED, 

Bitzer. A light-haired and light-eyed pupil of Mr. M'Choakum- 

child's, in Mr. Gradgrind's model school ; crammed full of hard facts, 

but with all fancy, sentiment, and affection taken out of him. 

His cold eyes would hardly have been eyes, but for the short ends of lashes, 
which, by bringing them into immediate contrast with something paler than 
360 



J^artr crimes, 361 

themselves, expressed their form. His short-cropped hair might have been a 
mere continuation of the sandy freckles on his foreiiead and face. His skin was 
so unwholesomely deficient in the natural tinge, that he looked as though, if he 
were cut, he would bleed white. 

'' Bitzer," said Thomas Gradgrind, " your definition of a horse." 
" Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth; namely, twenty-four grinders, 
four eye-teeth, and twelve incisive. Sheds coat in the spring; in marshy 
countries, sheds hoofs too. Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod with iron. 
Age known by marks in mouth." Thus (and much more) Bitzer. 

After he leaves school, Bitzer is employed as light porter and 
clerk at Mr. Bounderby's Bank. When Mr. Gradgrind's son, after 
robbing the bank, endeavors to escape, he starts in pursuit, and 
pounces on him just as he is about to leave his father's house for 
Liverpool. 

" Bitzer," said Mr. Gradgrind, broken down, and miserably submissive to 
him, " have you a heart ? " 

" The circulation, sir," returned Bitzer, smiling at the oddity of the question, 
" could n't be carried on without one. No man, sir, acquainted with the facts 
established by Harvey relating to the circulation of the blood, can doubt that I 
have a heart." 

" Is it accessible " cried Mr. Gradgrind, " to any compassionate influence ? " 

"It is accessible to reason, sir," returned the excellent young man; "and 
to nothing else." 

(Bk. I, ch. ii, V ; Bk. 11, ch. i, iv, vi, viii, ix, xi ; Bk. Ill, ch. vii- 
ix.) 

Blackpool, Mrs. Wife of Stephen Blackpool. Soon after her 
marriage, she takes to drinking, and goes on from bad to worse, 
until she becomes a curse to her husband, to herself, and to all 
around her. (Bk. I, ch. x-xiii; Bk. Ill, ch. ix.) 

Blackpool, Stephen. A simple, honest, power-loom weaver, in 
]Mr. Bounderby's factory. A rather stooping man, with a knitted 
brow, a pondering expression of face, and a hard-looking head 
sufficiently capacious on which his iron-gray hair lay long and 
thin. His lot is a hard one. Tied to a miserable, drunken wife, 
who has made his home a desolation and a mockery, and for whom 
he has long ceased to feel either respect or love, he finds himself 
unable to marry — as he would like to do — a woman (Rachael) who 
has been a kind and dear friend to him for many years ; and he 
goes to Mr. Bounderby for advice. 

" I ha' coom to ask yo', sir, how I am to be ridded o' this woman." Stepten 
infused a yet deeper gravity into the mixed expression of his attentive face. . . . 

" What do you mean ? " said Bounderby, getting up to lean his back against 
the chimney-piece. " What are you talking about ? You took her for betterj 
for worse." 

31 



362 2Ci)e Bfcltens 23fctfonars. 

" I mun' be ridden o' her. I cannot bear 't nommore. I ha' lived under 't so 
long, for that I ha' had'n the pity and comforting words o' th' best lass living or 
dead. Haply, but for her, I should ha' gone hottering mad." 

"■ He wishes to be free to marry the female of whom he speaks, I fear, sir," ob- 
served Mrs. Sparsit in an undertone, and much dejected by the immorality of the 
people. 

" I do. The lady says what 's right. I do. I were a-coming to 't. I ha' read i' 
th' papers that great fok (fair faw 'em a' I I wishes 'em no hurt I) are not bonded 
together for better, for worse, so fast, but that they can be set free fro' their misfort- 
net marriages, an' marry ower agen. When they dunnot agree, for that their tem- 
pers is ill-sorted, they has rooms o' one kind an' another in their houses, above a 
bit, and they can live asunders. We fok ha' only one room, an' we can't. When 
that won't do, they ha' gowd an' other cash, an' then they say, ' This for yo', an' 
that for me;' an' they can go their separate ways. We can't. Spite o' all that, 
they can be set free for smaller wrongs than mine. So I mun' be ridden o' this 
woman, and I wan' t' know how." 

'' No how," returned Mr. Bounderby. 

" If I do her any hurt, sir, there 's a law to punish me ? '* 

" Of course, there is." 

" If I flee from her, there 's a law to punish me ? " 

*' Of course, there is." 

** If I marry t'oother dear lass, there »s a law to punish me?** 

'' Of course, there is." 

"If I was to live wi' her, an' not marry her, — saying Buch a thing could be, 
which it never could or would, an' her so good, — there 's a law to punish me in 
every innocent child belonging to me ? " 

*' Of course, there is." 

*' Now, a' God's name," said Stephen Blackpool, " show me the law to help me ! " 

" Hem I There 's a sanctity in this relation of life," said Mr. Bounderby, " and 
— and — it must be kept up." 

" No, no, dunnot say that, sir I 'T an't kep' up that way, — not that way, — 'T is 
kep' down that way. I 'm a weaver, I were in a fact'ry when a chilt ; but I ha' got- 
ten een to see wi', and eern to year wi'. I read in th' papers every 'Sizes, every 
Sessions — and you read too : I know it ! — with dismay, how th' supposed unpos- 
Bibility o' ever getting unchained from one another, at any price, on any terms, 
brings blood upon this land, and brings many common married fok to battle, 
murder, and sudden death. Let us ha' this right understood. Mine 's a grievous 
case, an' I want — if yo' will be so good — t' know the law that helps me." 

'' Now, I tell you what I " said Mr. Bounderby, putting his hands in his pockets. 
" There is such a law." 

Stephen, subsiding into his quiet manner, and never wandering in his attention, 
^ave a nod. 

'' But it 's not for you at all. It costs money. It costs a mint of money." 

" How much might that be ? " Stephen calmly asked. 

" Why, you 'd have to go to Doctors' Commons with a suit, and you 'd have 
to go to a court of Common Law with a suit, and you 'd have to go to the House 
of Lords with a suit, and you 'd have to get an Act o^ Parliament to enable you to 
marry again; and it would cost you (if it was a case of very plain sailing), I sup- 
pose, from a thousand to fifteen hundred pound," said Mr. Bounderby, — "perhaps 
twice the money." 

" There 's no other law ? *' 

" Certainly not." 



Jj^arti STimes. 3G3 

"Why, then, sir," said Stephen, . . . " 't is a muddle," said Stephen, shaking 
his head as he moved to the door, — " 't is a' a muddle I " 

When the Coketown operatives enter into a combination against 
their employers, and establish certain " regulations," Stephen re- 
fuses to join them, and they all renounce and shun him. And 
when Mr. Bounderby questions him about the association (styled 
the " United Aggregate Tribunal "), calling the members " a set of 
rascals and rebels," he earnestly protests that they are acting from 
a sense of duty, and is angrily told to finish what he 's at, and then 
look elsewhere for work. Leaving Coketown in search of employ- 
ment, he falls into an abandoned coal-shaft (" Old Hell Shaft ") hid- 
den by thick grass, where he remains for some days, when he is acci- 
dentally discovered, and is rescued, alive, but dreadfully bruised, 
and so injured, that he dies soon after being brought to the surface. 
(Bk. I, ch. x-xiii; Bk. II, ch. iv-vi,.ix; Bk. Ill, ch. iv-vi.) See 
Gradgrind, Tom. 
Bounderby, Josiah. A wealthy Coketown manufacturer, who 
marries the daughter of Mr. Gradgrind. (Bk. I, ch. iii-ix, xi, xiv- 
xvi ; Bk. 11, ch. i-xii ; Bk. Ill, ch. ii-ix.) See Gradgrind, 
Louisa. 

Mr. Bounderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom-friend as a man 
perfectly devoid of sentiment can approach that spiritual relationship towards 
another man perfectly devoid of sentiment. So near vsras Mr. Bounderby, — or, 
if the reader should prefer it, so far off. 

He was a rich man, — banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what not ; a big, 
loud man, with a stare, and a metallic laugh ; a man made out of a coarse ma- 
terial, wliich seemed to have been stretched to make so much of him; a man 
with a great puffed head and forehead, swelled veins in his temples, and such a 
strained skin to his face, that it seemed to hold his eyes open, and lift his eye- 
brows up; a man with a pervading appearance on him of being inflated like a 
balloon, and ready to start ; a man who could never sufficiently vaunt himself 
a self-made man ; a man who was always proclaiming, through that brassy 
speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his old ignorance and his old poverty; a 
man who was the Bully of humility. 

A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend, Mr. Bounderby 
looked older ; his seven or eight and forty might have had the seven or eight 
added to it again, without surprising anybody. He had not much hair. One 
might have fancied he had talked it off; and that what was left, all standing up 
in disorder, was in that condition from being constantly blown about by his 
windy boastfulness. 

Bounderby, Mrs. Louisa. See Gradgrind, Louisa. 

Childers, Mr. E. "W. B. A young man, who is a member of 
Sleary's Circus Troupe, and is celebrated for his daring vaulting 
act as the Wild Huntsman of the North American Prairies. (Bk. 
I, ch. vi ; Bk. Ill, ch. vii, viii.) 



364 5C|)e 33fcfeens JDictfonatg. 

His face, close-shaven, thin, and sallow, was shaded by a great quantity of 
dark hair brushed into a roll all round his head, and parted up the centre. His 
legs were very robust, but shorter than legs of good proportions should have 
been. His chest and back were as much too broad as his legs were too short. 
He was dressed in a Newmarket coat and tight-fitting trousers; wore a shawl 
round his neck ; smelt of lamp-oil, straw, orange-peel, horses' provender, and 
sawdust ; and looked a most remarkable sort of Centaur, compounded of the 
stable and the play-house. Where the one began, and the other ended, nobody 
could have told with any precision. 

Gordon, Erama. A member of Sleary's Circus Troupe, and a 
friend to Sissy Jupe. (Bk. I, ch. vi ; Bk. Ill, eh. vii.) 

Gradgrind, Mr. Thomas. A retired wholesale hardware mer- 
chant. (Bk. I, ch. i-ix, xiv-xvi ; Bk. 11, ch. i-iii, vii, ix, xi, 
xii ; Bk. Ill, ch. i-ix.) 

" Thomas Gradgrind, sir, — a man of realities ; a man of facts and calcula- 
tions ; a man who proceeds upon the principle that two and two are four, and 
nothing over, and who is not to be talked into allowing for any thing over ; 
Thomas Gradgrind, sir, — peremptorily Thomas, Thomas Gradgrind; with a 
rule and a pair of scales, and the multiplication-table always in his pocket, sir, 
ready to weigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly 
what it comes to. It is a mere question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic. 
You might hope to get some other nonsensical belief into the head of George 
Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind 
(all supposititious, non-existent persons), but into the head of Thomas Grad- 
grind — no, sir! " 

In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether 
to his private circle of acquaintance, or to the public in general. 

Visiting his model school in company with a government officer 
of the same intensely practical, utilitarian stamp as himself, he 
tells the teacher, Mr. M'Choakumchild, — 

" Now, what I want is facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but facts. 
Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out every thing 
else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon facts : nothing 
else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring 
ip my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these chil- 
iren. Stick to facts, sir ! " 

The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a schoolroom, and the 
speaker's square forefinger emphasized his observations by underscoring 
every sentence with a line on the schoolmaster's sleeve. The emphasis was 
helped by the speaker's square wall of a forehead, which had his eyebrows for 
its base ; while his eyes found commodious cellarage in two dark caves, over- 
shadowed by the wall. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's mouth, 
which was wide, thin, and hard set. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's 
voice, which was inflexible, dry, and dictatorial. The emphasis was helped by 
the speaker's hair, which bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation 
of firs to keep the wind from its shining surface, all covered with knobs, like the 
crast of a plum-pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse room for the hard 
facls stored inside. The speaker's obstinate carriage, square coat, square legs, 
square shoulders, nay, bis very neckcloth, trained to take him by the throat 



jE^arU STimes. 365 

with an unaccommodating grasp, like a stubborn fact, as it was — all helped 
the emphasis. 

Mr. Gradgrind's residence is a very matter-of-fact place, called 

" Stone Lodge," situated on a moor within a mile or two of the 

great manufacturing town of Coketown. 

A very regular feature on the face of the country, Stone Lodge was. Not 
the least disguise toned down or shaded off that uncompromising fact in the 
landscape. A great square house, with a heavy portico darkening the principal 
windows, as its master's heavy brows overshadowed his eyes, — a calculated, 
cast-up, balanced, and proved house. Six windows on this side of the door, six 
on that side; a total of twelve in this wing, a total of twelve in the other wing; 
four and twenty carried over to the back; a lawn and garden and an infant 
avenue, all ruled straight like a botanical account-book; gas and ventilation, 
drainage and water-service, all of the primest quality; iron clamps and gird- 
ers, fireproof, from top to bottom; mechanical lifts for4he housemaids, with all 
their brushes and brooms : every thing that heart could desire. 

Mr. Gradgrind marries his eldest daughter, according to a math- 
ematical plan which he has adopted, to Mr. Bounderby, another 
eminently practical man, who is not only twenty years her senior, 
but is in every respect unsuited to her. The result of this ill-as- 
sorted union is unhappiness not only to the wife, but to her father 
as well, for whom a still sharper trial is in store. His eldest son, 
whom he has carefully trained, becomes dissipated, robs his em- 
ployer, and brings disgrace on the hitherto unblemished name of 
Gradgrind. In his sore trouble, Mr. Gradgrind is consoled and 
strengthened by two of the most unpractical people in the world, — 
Mr. Sleary, the manager of a circus, and Sissy Jupe, the daughter 
of a clown, both of whom he has repeatedly lectured on their 
utter want of worldly wisdom and practicality. Forced to admit 
that much of his misfortune is attributable to his own hard system 
of philosophy, he becomes a humbler and a wiser man, bending his 
hitherto inflexible theories to appointed circumstances ; making his 
facts and figures subservient to Faith, Hope, and Charity, and 
no longer trying to grind that heavenly trio in his dusty little mills. 
See Sleary (Mr.), and Jupe (Cecilia). 
Gradgrind, Mrs. Wife of Mr. Thomas Gradgrind. (Bk.I, ch. iv, 
ix, XV ; Bk. H, ch. ix.) 

A little thin, white, pink-eyed bundle of shawls, of surpassing feebleness 
mental and bodily; who was always taking physic without any effect; and who, 
whenever she showed a symptom of coming to life, was invariably stunned by 
some weighty piece of fact tumbling on her. 

Gradgrind, Adam Smith. A younger son of Mr. Gradgrind. 
(Bk. I, ch. iv.) 
31* 



366 2ri)e 33icfeens Bictfonars. 

Gradgrind, Jane. Mr. Gradgrlnd's younger daughter. (Bk. I, 

ch. iv, xvi ; Bk. II, ch. ix ; Bk. IH, ch. i.) 
Gradgiind, Louisa. Eldest child of Mr. Gradgrind. 

There was an air of jaded suUenness in . . . the girl ; yet, struggling through 
the dissatisfaction of her face, there was a light with nothing to rest upon, a 
fire with nothing to burn, a starved imagination keeping hfe in itself somehow, 
which brightened its expression, — not with the brightness natural to cheerful 
youth, but with uncertain, eager, doubtful flashes, which had something pain- 
ful in them, analogous to the changes of a blind face groping its way. 

She becomes the wife of Josiah Bounderby, who says to the 

guests at the breakfast-table, after the marriage-ceremony has been 

performed, — 

" I have watched her bringing up, and I believe she is worthy of me. At the 
same time, — not to deceive you, — I believe I am worthy of her. So I thank 
you, on both our parts, for the good-will you have shown towards us ; and the 
best wish I can give the unmari'ied part of the present company is this : I hope 
every bachelor may iind as good a wife as I have found; and I hope every 
spinster may find as good a husband as my wife has found." 

The current of their wedded life does not run smooth, however. 
CJtter incompatibility of temper, utter want of mutual love or 
sympathy, pave the way for a plausible acquaintance — a polished, 
easy man of the world — to approach her with insidious declara- 
tions of love, and to propose an elopement. Resisting the tempta- 
tion, she flees to her father's house, and implores him to save her. 
He recommends to her husband to allow her to stay there for a 
while, that she may have the opportunity she so much needs for 
repose and reflection ; but Mr. Bounderby requires that she shall 
return to his bed and board by the next day noon ; and, as she fails 
to do so, he refuses to have any thing more to do with her, and 
leaves her in her father's charge. (Bk. I, ch. iii, iv, vi-ix, xiv-xvi ; 
Bk. II, ch. i-iii, v-xii ; Bk. Ill, ch. i-ix.) 
G-radgrind, Malthus. A son of Mr. Gradgrind. (Bk. I, ch. iv.) 
Gradgrind, Thomas. Mr. Gradgrlnd's youngest son ; a selfish, 
ill-natured, sensual, mercenary whelp. He is employed as a clerk 
in Bounderby's Bank, and, being a dissipated and extravagant idler, 
robs it of some hundred and fifty pounds. For a time, he suc- 
ceeds in throwing suspicion upon an innocent factory-operative ; 
but his own guilt is soon established, and he flees from the country 
to avoid arrest and imprisonment. (Bk. I, ch. iii, iv, vii-ix, xiv, 
xvi ; Bk. H, ch. i-iii, v-viii, x-xii ; Bk. IH, ch. ii-ix ) 
Harthouse, Mr. James. A friend of Mr. Gradgrlnd's ; a thor- 
ough gentleman, made to the model of the time, weary of every 



J^artr i^imes. 367 

thing, and putting no more faitla in any thing than Lucifer. He is 
" five and thirty, good-looking, good figure, good teeth, good voice, 
dark hair, bold eyes." (Bk. II, ch. i-iii, v, vii-xii; Bk. Ill, ch. ii, 
iii.) See Gradgrind (Louisa), Jupe (Cecilia). 

Jupe, Cecilia, or Sissy. The daughter of a clown. She has 
been kindly permitted to attend the school controlled by Mr. Grad- 
grind ; but Mr. Bounderby thinks that she has a bad influence over 
the other children, and advises that the privilege should be with- 
drawn. The two gentlemen accordingly visit the " Pegasus' 
Arms " at Pod's End, to inform her father of their intention ; but 
they find that Signor Jupe, — always a half-cracked man, — having 
got old and stiflf in the joints, so that he cannot perform his parts sat- 
isfactorily, and having got his daughter into the school, and there- 
fore, as he seems to think, got her well provided for, has run oflf to 
parts unknown. Under these circumstances, Mr. Gradgrind de- 
cides to take charge of the girl, and educate and support her. 
She accompanies him home, and makes herself very useful and 
companionable in his family. When Louisa is about to fall into 
the meshes of Mr. Harthouse, Sissy visits that gentleman, and 
persuades and shames him into leaving the neighborhood ; and, 
when Mr. Gradgrind's son is about to be arrested for the robbery 
of Bounderby's Bank, she sends him to her father's old employer, 
Mr. Sleary, who conceals him, and gets him safely abroad. (Bk. I, 
ch. ii, iv-ix, xiv, xv ; Bk. II, ch. ix ; Bk. Ill, ch. i, ii, iv-ix.) 

Jupe, Signor. A clown in Sleary's circus ; father of Sissy Jupe, 
and owner of the " highly-trained performing dog Merrylegs." (Bk. 
I, ch. ii, iii, v, vi, ix ; Bk. Ill, ch. ii, viii.) See Jupe, Cecilia. 

Kidderminster, Master. A member of Sleary's Circus Troupe ; 
a diminutive boy, with an old face, who assists Mr. Childers in his 
daring vaulting-act as the Wild Huntsman of the North American 
Prairies ; taking the part of his infant son, and being carried upside 
down over his father's shoulder, by one foot, and held by the crown 
of his head, heels upwards, in the palm of his father's hand, accord- 
ing to the violent paternal manner in which wild huntsmen may be 
observed to fondle their offspring. (Bk. I, ch. vi ; Bk. II, ch. vii.) 

M*Choakunichild, Mr. Teacher in Mr. Gradgrind's model 
school. (Bk. I, ch. i-iii, ix, xiv.) 

He and some hundred and forty other schoolmasters had been lately turned 
at the same time, in the same factory, on the same principles, like so many 
pianoforte legs. He had been put through an immense variety of paces, and 
had answered volumes of head-breaking questions. Orthography, etymology^ 



368 2ri)e Bickens JBUUoxiHx^a, 

syntax, and prosody, biography, astronomy, geography, and general cosmogra 
phy, the sciences of compound proportion, algebra, land surveying and level- 
ing, vocal music, and drawing from models, were all at the ends of his ten chilled 
fingers. He had worked his stony way into her Majesty's most Honorable 
Privy Council's Schedule B, and had taken the bloom off the higher branches 
of mathematics and physical science, French, German, Latin, and Greek. He 
knew all about the water-sheds of all the world (whatever they are), and all 
the histories of all the peoples, and all the names of all the rivers and moun- 
tains, and all the productions, manners, and customs of all the countries, and 
all their boundaries and bearings on the two and thirty points of the compass. 
Ah 1 rather overdone, M'Choakumchild. If he had only learnt a little less, how 
infinitely better he might have taught much more 1 

Merrylegs. Signer Jupe's trained performing-dog. (Bk. I, ch. iii, 
v-viii ; Bk. Ill, ch. viii.) 

Pegler, Mrs. Mother of Josiah Bonn derby ; a mysterious old wo- 
man, tall and shapely, though withered by time. Her son, growing 
rich, becomes ashamed of her, and gives her thirty pounds a year 
to keep away from him, and not claim any relationship with him ; 
but the secret is at last divulged, under the most ridiculous circum- 
stances, through the agency of the inquisitive and superserviceable 
Mrs. Sparsit. (Bk. I, ch. xii ; Bk. II, ch. vi, viii ; Bk. Ill, ch. iv, v.) 

Rachael. A factory-hand ; a friend of Stephen Blackpool's. (Bk. 
I, ch. x-xiii ; Bk. 11, ch. iv, vi ; Bk. Ill, ch. iv-vi, ix.) 

Scadgers, Lady. Great-aunt to Mrs. Sparsit ; an immensely fat 
old woman with an inordinate appetite for butcher's meat, and a 
mysterious leg, which has refused to get out of bed for fourteen 
years. (Bk. I, ch. vii; Bk. II, ch. viii ; Bk. Ill, ch. ix.) 

Slackbridge. A trades-union agitator and orator. (Bk. II, ch. 
iv; Bk. m, iv.) 

Sleary, Josephine. Daughter of a circus proprietor ; a pretty, 
fair-haired girl of eighteen, noted for her graceful Tyrolean flower- 
act. (Bk. I, ch. vi ; Bk. II, ch. vii.) 

Sleary, Mr. Proprietor of a "Horse-riding,*' or circus; a stout 
man, with one fixed eye and one loose eye, a voice (if it can be 
called so) like the efforts of a broken old pair of bellows, a flabby 
surface, and a muddled head, which is never sober, and never drunk. 
He is troubled with asthma, and his breath comes far too thick and 
heavy for the letter " s." (Bk. I, ch. vi, ix ; Bk. HI, ch. vii, viii.) 

Sparsit, Mrs. Mr. Bounderby's housekeeper; an elderly lady, 
highly connected, with a Coriolanian style of nose, and dense black 
eyebrows. Mr. Bounderby gives her a hundred a year, disguising 
the payment under the name of an " annual compliment." (Bk. I, 
ch. vii, xi, xvi ; Bk. II, ch. i, iii, vi, viii-xi ; Bk. IH, ch. iii, v, ix.) 



l^avD (iTfmes. 369 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 

BOOK I. — Chapter I. Mr. Thomas Gradgrind discourses on fact to the school-chil- 
dren. — II. He examines Sissy Jupe, and expresses his dissatisfaction at the business of 
her father; Mr. Gradgrind and his friend, addressing the school, insist upon the suprem- 
acy of fact. — III. Mr. Gradgi'ind's horror at finding his children peeping at the circus.— 
IV. Mr. Bounderby gives Mrs. Gradgrind an account of his bringing up; Mr. Gradgrind 
enters with the children, and he and Bounderby decide that the presence of Sissj^ Jupe in 
the school has produced a bad effect, and that she sliould be discharged. —V. Mr. Gradgrind 
and Mr. Bounderby go to Coketown to carry out this design, when they meet Sissy in the 
street, and go with her to the house'where her father is staying. — VI. Jupe is missing, and 
Sissy goes in search of him; Mr. E. W. B. Childers suspects Jupe has run away, and so 
explains his absence; finding Jupe does not return, Gradgrind offers Sissy a home under 
certain conditions, which she accepts. — VII. Mrs. Sparsit appears as Mr. Bounderby's 
housekeeper; Mr. Gradgrind completes his plan of befriending Sissy Jupe, and takes her 
home with him to Stone Lodge. — VIII. Sympathy between Tom and Louisa, and Tom's 
plan of managing Bounderby through her influence. — IX. Sissy's account of her progress in 
school ; she tells Louisa about her father and his occupation ; Sissy's continued disappoint- 
ment at hearing nothing from her father. — X. Stephen Blackpool, watching for Rachael 
as the hands leave the factories, misses her, but afterwards overtakes her on the way 
home; leaving her, he proceeds home, and finds his drunken wife come back. — XI. 
Stephen consults Mr. Bounderby how he can get rid of his wife by law, and is more than 
ever convinced that it "is a' a muddle." — XII. After leaving Mrs. Bounderby's house, 
Stephen encounters an old woman, who is greatly interested in that gentleman's welfare. 
— XIII. Stephen finds Rachael tending his wife ; Eachaei prevents her from poisoning her- 
self; Rachael's influence over Stephen. — XIV. Sissy Jupe is removed from school; Mr. 
Gradgrind becomes sensible that Louisa has grown quite a young woman; Tom gives 
J^ouisa a hint of how she may be useful to him. — XV. Mr. Gradgrind informs Louisa that 
Mr. Bounderby has offered to make her his wife, and she accepts him. —XVI. Mr. Boun- 
derby informs Mrs. Sparsit of his approaching marriage, and provides for her removal 
to the bank ; Mr. Bounderby makes a speech at his wedding-breakfast. 

BOOK II. — Chapter I. Bitzer informs Mrs. Sparsit of his suspicions of Mr. Thomas; 
Mr. James Harthouse calls at the bank to make inquiries for Mr. Bounderby. —II. IMr. 
Harthouse presents his letters of introduction to Mr. Bounderby, and is introduced to Mrs. 
Bounderby; Mr. Harthouse, watching for something to move Louisa, finds it in the 
appearance of Tom. — III. Harthouse draws from Tom some particulars in regard to his 
sister and her education. — IV. Slackbridge harangues the Coketown operatives; Stephen 
declines to enter into the proposed regulations of the workmen, and is shunned by all his 
old friends. — V. Bounderby sends for Stephen, who expresses to him and Harthouse his 
opinion of the action of the workmen, whom he justifies, though he does not join them; 
Bounderby becomes angry with him, and discharges him. — VI. Stephen is surprised to meet 
Rachael in company with Mrs. Pegler, the old woman whom he had met before ; he informs 
them of his discharge, and invites them to accompany him home ; Mrs. Pegler speaks of 
the son whom she has lost, and shows great fear of meeting Mr. Bounderby ; Louisa calls 
upon Stephen, accompanied by Tom, to express her sympathy, and to offer him assistance ; 
Tom, under promise of doing him a service, asks Stephen to hang about the bank each 
evening before he leaves Coketown ; Stephen leaves Coketown in search of work. — VII. 
Harthouse goes to Mr. Bounderby's countrjMiouse, and finds Louisa alone ; he assumes an 
interest in Tom for the purpose of securing an influence over her ; Harthouse accuses Torm of 
ingratitude to his sister, .and he promises amendment. — VIII. The robbery of Bounderby's 
Bank, and the effect of the news upon Louisa; Stephen Blackpool is suspected of the crime 
on the evidence of Mrs. Sparsit and Bitzer, by whom he was seen hanging round the bank ; 
Mrs. Sparsit shows her detennination to pity Bounderby, and keeps her eye on Harthouse 
and Louisa; Louisa goes to Tom's room, and begs him to confide in her. — IX. Mrs. Spar- 
Bit's action throws Harthouse and Louisa more together; sickness and death of Mrs. 



370 2fl)f iSfcftens IDfctConars. 

Gradgrind ; Mrs. Sparsit watches the growing Intimacy of Harthouse with Louisa. — X. 
Harthouse tries to convince Louisa of Blackpool's guilt. —XI. Mrs. Sparsit, learning from 
Tom that he has an appointment to meet Mr. Harthouse at Colcetowu, suspects this is a 
plan to keep Tom out of the way, while Harthouse goes to meet Louisa alone in the ab- 
sence of Mr. Bounderby ; and, hastening ofif to the country-house, she finds them together, 
and overhears Harthouse's declaration of love; Mrs. Sparsit follows Louisa, through a 
drenching storm, to Coketown, and there loses sight of her —XII. Louisa goes home to 
her father, tells him her story, and begs him to save her. 

BOOK III. — Chapteb I. Mr. Gradgrind begins to suspect some defect in his system of 
education; Sissy comforts Louisa.— II. Mr. Harthouse, in doubt of what may happen 
next, receives a call from Sissy Jupe, who informs him he can never see Louisa again, a;id 
asks him, as the only reparation he can make, to leave the place immediately, which he 
decides to do. —III. Mrs. Sparsit informs Bounderby of her discoveries, and he takes her 
to Mr. Gradgrind's, where he learns what has become of Louisa ; at Mr. Gradgrind's sug- 
gestion that Louisa should remain there for a time, Bounderby determines to leave her 
there all the time. —IV. Bounderby offers a reward for the apprehension of Stephen Black- 
pool ; Rachael appeals to Louisa to confirm her story of Louisa's visit to Stephen, and 
promises that he shall be there in two days; Stephen fails to appear, and cannot be found. 
— V. Mrs. Sparsit captures old Mrs. Pegler, and takes her to BouLlerby's house; she 
proves to be Bounderby's mother, and all his stories of his childhood falsehoods. — VI. 
Sissy and Eachael, walking in the fields, discover Stephen's hat at the mouth of an aban- 
doned coal-shaft ; help gathers, and Stephen is raised from thepit, stLil alive; he recog- 
nizes Kachael, and asks Mr. Gradgrind to clear his name, as his son can tell him how ; 
Stephen dies. —VII. Tom vanishes at a hint from Sissy; Louisa and Sissy inform Mr. 
Gradgrind of their previous suspicions of Tom, and that Sissy had sent him to Mr. Sleary 
to be hidden; Mr. Gradgrind, Louisa, and Sissy go to Mr. Sleary, then exhibiting not far 
from Liverpool, and arrange for Tom's escape from the country, in disguise, when their 
plan Is interrupted by Bitzer. — VIII. Mr. Sleary, through the aid of his trained horse 
and dog, assists Tom to escape. —IX. Mrs. Sparsit takes leave of Mr. Bounderby ; fote of 
tbe characten . 



[Published in " Household Words," in 1854.] 



In the ancient city of Eochester, in Kent, is a venerable white house with this 
inscription over its quaint old door : 

RICHARD WATTS, ESQ. 

By his Will, dated 22 Aug. 1579, 

podnded this chaeitt 

FOR SIX POOR TRAVELLERS, 

WHO, NOT BEING ROGUES, OR TROCTOES, 

MAT RECEIVE GRATIS FOR ONE NIGHT 

LODGING, ENTERTAINMENT, 

AKD POURPENCB EACH. 

On a certain Christinas eve, the narrator of the story — who describes himsell 
as being a traveller, and withal as poor as he hopes to be — visits the Charity, 
and makes inquiries of the matron concerning the institution and its management. 
He finds that the prescribed number of travellers is forthcoming every night from 
year's end to year's end, but that they are not lodged in the house itself, occupying 
two little galleries at the back instead ; neither are they provided with entertain- 
ment, as might be supposed, but buy what they can with their fourpences, and 
prepare their own suppers, a fire and cooking-utensils being furnished them for this 
purpose. Of the whole revenue of the establishment, only about a thirtieth part 
is expended for the objects commemorated in the inscription over the door ; the rest 
being handsomely laid out in chancery, law-expenses, collectorship, receivership, 
poundage, and other appendages of management highly complimentary to the im- 
portance of the Six Poor Travellers, and essential to the dignity of the Board of 
Trustees. Having ascertained these facts, the narrator becomes desirous of treat- 
ing the travellers on that night to a supper and a glass of hot wassail at his own 
expense. Consent being granted, he sets before them a- most substantial and ex- 
tellent meal, and after it is ended tells them — 

THE STORY OF RICHARD DOUBLEDICK. 

371 



372 SEJe JButtns ©fctfonars. 



GHARAGTEES INTEODUGED. 

Ben. A waiter. 

Doubledick, Hichard. A young man who has run wild, and 
has been dismissed by the girl to whom he was betrothed. Made 
reckless by this well-deserved stroke, he enlists in a regiment of 
the line under an assumed name, becomes more dissipated than 
ever, and is constantly getting punished for some breach of disci- 
pline. Under the influence of the captain of his company, how- 
ever, he becomes an altered man, rises rapidly from the ranks, and 
gains the reputation of being one of the boldest spirits in the 
whole army. At Badajos the captain falls, mortally wounded by a 
French officer ; and from that moment Doubledick devotes himself 
to aveno-ing the death of his friend, in case he should ever meet 
that French officer again. At Waterloo he is among the wounded, 
and for many long weeks his recovery is doubtful ; but he is tenderly 
nursed by Mrs. Taunton, the mother of his lost friend, and by the 
young lady (Mary Marshall) to whom he had been engaged, and 
who now marries him. Three years afterwards, he has occasion to 
visit the South of France, to join Mrs. Taunton (who has gone 
thither for her health), and escort her home. He finds her the 
unwitting guest of the very officer who killed her son, and whose 
life he has vowed to have in return. But the frank and noble 
demeanor of the Frenchman, the innocent happiness of his pleasant 
home, and the warm regard which Mrs. Taunton has come to feel 
for him, — all combine to suggest better thoughts and feelings ; and 
Captain Doubledick secretly forgives him in the name of the divine 
Forgiver of injuries. 

Marshall, Mary. A beautiful girl, betrothed to Richard Double- 
dick ; afterwards estranged from, but finally married to, him. 

Taunton, Captain. The captain of the company in which Priv* 
ate llichard Doubledick enlists. 

Taunton, Mrs. His mother. 



[Published in " Household Words," in Decembee, 1855.] 



This is the story of a gentleman, who, imagining himself to have been sup- 
planted in the aflPections of a young lady, resolves to go straight to America — on 
his " way to the Devil." Before starting, however, he finds occasion to make a 
visit to a certain place on the farther borders of Yorkshire, and on the way thither 
he gets snowed up for a week at the Holly-Tree Inn, where he finds himself the 
only guest. Sitting by the fire in the principal room, he reads through all the 
books in the house ; namely, a " Book of Roads," a little song-book terminating in a 
collection of toasts and sentiments, a little jest-book, an odd volume of "Peregrine 
Pickle," and " The Sentimental Journey," to say nothing of two or three old news- 
papers. These being exhausted, he endeavors to while away the time by recalling 
his experience of inns, and his remembrances of those he has heard or read of. 
He further beguiles the days of his imprisonment by talking, at one time or anoth- 
er, with the whole establishment, not excepting the " Boots," who, lingering in the 
room one day, tells him a story about a young gentleman not eight years old, who 
runs off with a young lady of seven to Gretna Green, and puts up at the Holly- 
Tree. When the roads are at last broken out, and just as the disconsolate traveller 
is on the point of resuming his journey, a carriage drives up, and out jumps his 
(as he supposes) successful rival, who is running away to Gretna too. It turns 
out, however, that the lady he has with him is not the one with whom the traveller 
is in love, but her cousin. The fugitives are hastened on their way; and the trav- 
eller retraces his steps without delay, goes straight to London, and marries the 
^rl whom he thought he had lost forever. 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 

Boots. See Cobbs. 

Charley. Guest at the Holly-Tree Inn ; a self-supposed rejected 
man ; in love with Angela Leath. 

32 373 



374 8ri)c Bfcltens Bfctfonarg. 

Cobbs. The " Boots " at the Holly-Tree Inn ; formerly under-gar- 
dener at Mr. Walmers's. 

Edwin. Supposed rival of Charley, the guest at the Holly-Tree ; 
betrothed to Emmeline. 

Emraeline. Cousin to Angela Leath. She elopes with her lover, 
Edwirt, and is married to him at Gretna Green. 

George. Guard of a coach. 

Leath, Angela. The lady-love and afterwards the wife of Chai^ 
ley (the Holly-Tree guest), who for a time deludes himself, into 
thinking that she prefers his friend Edwin. 

Norah. Cousin to Master Harry Walmers, junior, with whom she 
runs away from home, intending to go to Gretna Green, and be 
married to him. She is, however, overtaken and carried home,, and 
long afterwards becomes the wife of a captain ; and finally dies in 
India. 

Walmers, Master Harry, junior. A bright boy, not quite 
eight years old, who falls in love with his cousin, a little girl of 
seven, and starts with her for Gretna Green, to get married. Stop- 
ping at the Holly-Tree Inn in their journey, they are recognized 
by the " Boots," who had been in the service of the young gentle- 
man's father. The landlord immediately sets off for York to inform 
the parents of the two little runaways of their whereabouts. They 
return late at night ; and Mr. Walmers, — 

" The door being opened, goes in, goes up to the bedside, bends gently down, 
and kisses the little sleeping face; then he stands looking at it for a minute, 
looking wonderfully like it (they do say he ran away with Mrs. Walmers); and 
then he gently shakes the little shoulder. 

" ' Harry, my dear boy I Harry 1 ' 

" Master Harry starts up and looks at his pa, — looks at me too. Such is the 
honor of that mite, that he looks at me, to see whether he has brought me into 
trouble. 

" ' I am not angry, my child. I only want you to dress yourself and come 
home.' 

" ' Yes, pa.' 

" Master Harry dresses himself quick. 

"'Please, may I' (the spirit of that little creature f), 'please, dear pa,— 
may I — kiss Norah before I go ? ' 

" * You may, my child.' 

*' So he takes Master Harry in his hand, and I leads the way with the candle 
to that other bedroom, where the elderly lady is seated by the bed, and poor 
little Mrs. Harry Walmers, junior, is fast asleep. There the father lifts the boy 
up to the pillow, and he lays his little face down for an instant by the little 
warm face of poor little Mrs. Harry Walmers, junior, and gently draws it to 
him, — a sight so touching to the chambermaids, who are a-peeping through the 
door, that one of them calls out, ' It 's a shame to part 'em I ' 



8r!)e J^olls^ffitee. 376 

" Finally," Boots says, " that 's all about it. Mr. Walmers drove away in the 
chaise, having hold of Master Harry's hand. The elderly lady and Mrs. Harry 
Walmers. junior, that was never to be, went off next day." In conclusion, 
Boots puts it to me whether I hold with him in two opinions : firstly, that there 
are not many couples on their way to be married who are half as innocent as 
them two children; secondly, that it would be a jolly good thing for a great 
many couples on their way to be married, if they could only be stopped in time, 
and brought back separate. 

W"alniers, Mr. The father of Master Harry ; a gentleman living 
at the " Elmses," near Shooter's Hill, six or seven miles from Lon- 
don. " Boots " thus describes him : — 

He was a gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held his head up when 
he walked, and had what you may call "fire" about him. He wrote poetry, 
and he rode, and he ran, and he cricketed, and he danced, and he acted; and he 
done it all equally beautiful. He was uncommon proud of Master Harry, as was 
his only child ; but he did n't spoil him, neither. He was a gentleman that had 
a will of his own, and a eye of his own, and that would be minded. 



Cittle SJorrit 



On the first day of December, 1856, the first number of this tale was issued; 
and the twentieth and last number made its appearance in June, 1857. The work 
was illustrated by Hablot K. Browne ; and on its completion it was dedicated to 
the late Clarkson Stanfield, the eminent landscape-painter. The main object of 
the author was to expose the vexatious procrastination, the indirectness, and the 
ineptitude, of governmental routine in the transaction of the public business ; and 
this was done in the description of the Circumlocution Ofiice, as managed by the 
inefl5cient and supercilious Barnacle family. Another object was to call attention 
to the evil eff'ects of imprisonment for debt, particularly in the case of persons 
wholly unable to discharge the claims of their creditors, or to render a full and 
satisfactory explanation of all the debts and liabilities they had incurred, con- 
formably to the indispensable condition of release imposed by the Insolvent Court. 
A third object was to hold up to ridicule the snobbery which delights to pay hom- 
age to mere wealth, like that of Mr. Merdle. 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED, 

Aunt, Mr. F's. See Mr. F's. Aunt. 

Bangham, Mrs. A charwoman and messenger; nurse of Mrs. 

Dorrit in the Marshalsea Prison. (Bk. I, eh. vi, vii ; Bk. II, ch. 

xix.) 
Barnacle, Clarence, called Barnacle, Junior. Son of Mr. 

Tite Barnacle; an empty-headed young gentleman employed in 

the Circumlocution Office. (Bk. I, ch. x, xvii, xxxiv, xxxv.) 

[He] had a youthful aspect, and the fluffiest little whisker, perhaps, that ever 
was seen. Such a downy tip was on his callow chin, that he seemed half-fledged, 
like a young bird ; . . . . He had a superior eyeglass dangling round his neck, 
but unfortunately had such flat orbits to his eyes, and such limp little eyelids, 
that it would n't stick in when he put it up, but kept tumbling out against his 
waistcoat buttons with a click that discomposed him very much. 
376 



afttle Borrft 377 

Barnacle, Lord Decimus Tite. Uncle of Mr. Tite Barnacle , 
a windy peer, high in the Circumlocution Office. (Bk. I, ch. xxvii, 
XXV, xxxiv ; Bk. II, ch. vii, xxiv, xxviii.) 

The Circumlocution Office was (as everybody knows without being told) the 
most important department under government. No public business of any 
kind could possibly be done at any time without the acquiescence of the Circum- 
locution OflSce. Its finger was in the largest public pie and in the smallest 
public tart. It was equally impossible to do the plainest right, and to undo the 
plainest wrong, without the express authority of the Circumlocution Office. If 
another gunpowder plot had been discovered half an hour before the lighting 
of the match, nobody would have been justified in saving the parliament until 
there had been half a score of boards, half a bushel of minutes, several sacks 
of oflicial memoranda, and a family vault full of ungrammatical correspondence, 
on the part of the Circumlocution Office. 

This glorious establishment had been early in the field when the one sublime 
principle involving the difficult art of governing a country was first distinctly 
revealed to statesmen. It had been foremost to study that bright revelation, 
and to carry its shining influence through the whole of the official proceedings. 
Whatever was required to be done, the Circumlocution Office was beforehand 
with all the public departments in the art of perceiving — how not to do 

IT. ... 

The Circumlocution Office went on mechanically, every day, keeping this 
wonderful, all-sufficient wheel of statesmanship, " How not to do it," in motion. 
The Circumlocution Office was down upon any ill-advised public servant who 
was going to do it, or who appeared to be, by any surprising accident, in remote 
danger of doing it, with a minute, and a memorandum, and a letter of instruc- 
tions, that extinguished him. It was this spirit of national efficiency in the 
Circumlocution Office that had gradually led to its having something to do with 
every thing. Mechanicians, natural philosophers, soldiers, sailors, petitioners, 
memorialists, people with grievances, people who wanted to prevent grievances, 
people who wanted to redress grievances, jobbing people, jobbed people, people 
who could n't get rewarded for merit, and people who could n't get punished 
for demerit, were all indiscriminately tucked up under the foolscap paper of the 
Circumlocution Office. 

Numbers of people were lost in the Circumlocution Office. Unfortunates 
with wrongs, or with projects for the general welfare (and they had better have 
had wrongs at first than have taken that bitter English recipe for certainly 
getting them), who in slow lapse of time and agony had passed safely through 
other public departments, who, according to rule, had been bullied in this, 
over-reached by that, and evaded by the other, got referred at last to the Cir- 
cumlocution Office, and never re-appeared in the light of day. Boards sat upon 
them, secretaries minuted upon them, commissioners gabbled about them, 
clerks registered, entered, checked, and ticked them off, and they melted away. 
In short, all the business of the country went through the Circumlocution Office, 
except the business that never came out of it; and its name was Legion. 

In the great art "How not to do it," Lord Decimus had long sustained the 
highest glory of the Barnacle family; and let any ill-advised member of either 
house but try how to do it by bringing in a bill to do it, that bill was as good 
as dead and buried when Lord Decimus Tite Barnacle rose up in his place, and 
Bolemnly said, soaring into indignant majesty as the Circumlocution cheering 
32* 



378 CCJje liicftens Bfctfonara>. 

soared around him, that he was yet to be told, my lords, that it behooved him, 
as the minister of this free country, to set bounds to the philanthropy, to cramp 
the charity, to fetter the public spirit, to contract the enterprise, to damp the 
independent self-reliance, of its people. 

Barnacle, Ferdinand. Private secretary to Lord Decimus Tite 
Barnacle ; a vivacious, well-looking, well-dressed, agreeable young 
fellow, on the more sprightly side of the family. Arthur Clennam, 
wishing to investigate Mr. Dorrit's affairs, with the view of re- 
leasing him, if possible, from the Marshalsea, inquires of Barnacle 
how he can obtain information as to the real state of the case. 

" You '11 find out what department the contract was in, and then you 'II 
find out all about it there." 

" I beg your pardon. How shall I find out ? " 

"Why, you '11 — you '11 ask till they tell you. Then you '11 memorialize that 
department (according to regular forms which you 'II find out) for leave to 
memorialize this department. If you get it (which you may, after a time), that 
memorial must be entered in that department, sent to be registered in this de- 
partment, sent back to be signed by that department, sent back to be counter- 
signed by this department, and then it will begin to be regularly before that 
department. You '11 find out when the business passes through each of these 
stages by asking at both departments till they tell you." 

'' But surely this is not the way to do the business," Arthur Clennara could 
not help saying. 

This airy young Barnacle was quite entertained by his simplicity in supposing 
for a moment that it was. This light-in-hand young Barnacle knew perfectly 
that it was not. This touch-and-go young Barnacle had "got up " the depart- 
ment in a private secretaryship, that he might be ready for any little bit of fat 
that came to hand ; and he fully understood the department to be a politico- 
diploraatico-hocus-pocus piece of machinery for the assistance of the nobs iu 
keeping off the snobs. The dashing young Barnacle, in a word, was likely to 
become a statesman, and to make a figure. 

" When the business is regularly before that department, whatever it is," 
pursued this bright young Barnacle, " then you can watch it from time to time 
through that department. When it comes regularly before this department, 
then you must watch it from time to time through this department. We shall 
have to refer it right and left; and, when we refer it anywhere, then you '11 have 
to look it up. When it comes back to us at any time, then you had better look 
MS up. When it sticks anyAVhere, you '11 have to try to give it a jog. When 
you write to another department about it, and then to this department about 
it, and don't hear any thing satisfactory about it, why, then you had better — 
keep on writing." 

(Bk. I, ch. X, xxxiv ; Bk. IT, ch. xii, xxviii.) 

Barnacle, Mr. Tite. A man of family, a man of place, ^nd a 
man of a gentlemanly residence, who usually coaches or crams the 
statesman at the head of the Circumlocution Office. (Bk. I, ch. ix, 
X, xxxiv ; Bk. 11, ch. xii.) 

Blandois. See Rigaud. 



atttu Botitt. 



379 



Beadle Harriet. caUed Tattycoram. A girl taken from the 
F^undlifg hospital by Mr. Meagles to be a maid to h.s daughter 
Mnnie She is a handsome girl, but headstrong and passionate. 
Mr M a<-les takes great pains to improve her dispos,t.on and 
Tharlrrand always'advisesher, when she is not .a a good temper 

to "take » little time," and to "count five and twenty. She 
proves insensible, however, to all bis goodness and kmd cons de a- 
tion, runs away after a time, and places herself under the pro- 
Ttlon of a certain Miss Wade; but in the end she returns, humble 
and penitent, to her benefactor's house. 

Ld might have a »oftenlhg and affecUonate k.nd oj effect don t you » 

(Bk. I, ch. ii, xvi, JBvii, xxviii ; Bk. II, ch. ix, x, xx, xxxni.) 
Bob. Turnkey of the Marshalsca Prison ; godfather to Little Dorrit. 

CBk. I, ch. vi, vU ; Bk. II, ch. xix.) 
Casbv Christopher. Landlord of Bleeding Heart Yard ; a selfish, 
crS Sostorwho likes to be thought a benefactor to his species, 
and who grinds his tenants by proxy. 

Patriarch was the name which many people delighted to give him. Various 
Old SeT n re neighborhood spoke of him as The Last of the Patr-^^^ -^^^^^^ 

was ; but they all seemed to be somewhere about hun. 

(Bk. I, ch. xii, xiii, xxiii, xxiv, XXXV ; Bk. II, ch. ix, xxm, 

Ca'Sietto. John Baptist. A fellow-prisoner with^gaud at 
Marseilles ; afterwards in Arthur Clennam^ employ, and of use to 
him in discovering that person. (Bk. I, ch. i, xi, xxm, xxv, xxix . 
Bk. II, ch. xii, xxii, xxiii, xxviii, xxx.) 



380 2C5e IBicfeens IBictfonacg. 

A sunburnt, quick, lithe little man, though rather thick-set. Ear-rings in hi? 
brown ears, white teeth lighting up his grotesque brown face, intensely-black 
hair clustering about his brown throat. 

Chivery, John. A non-resident turnkey of the Marshalsea Prison 
(Bk. I, cli. xviii, xix, xxii, xxv, xxxi, xxxv, xxxvi ; Bk. 11, ch. xviii, 
xxvi, xxvii, xxix, xxxi, xxxiv.) 

Chivery, Young John. His son ; a lover of Little Dorrit. 

Young John was small of stature, with rather weak legs, and very weak light 
hair. One of his eyes was also weak, and looked larger than the other, as if it 
could n't collect itself. Young John was gentle likewise. But he was great of 
soul ; poetical, expansive, faithful. 

This sentimental youth, before ever he had told his love, had often 
meditated on the happiness that would result from his marriage to 
Little Dorrit, and on the loving manner in which they would " glide 
down the stream of time in pastoral and domestic happiness." 

Young John drew tears from his eyes by finishing the picture with a tomb- 
stone in the adjoining churchyard, close against the prison wall, bearing the 
following touching inscription : " Sacred to the memory of John Chivery, 
Sixty years Turnkey, and fifty years Head Turnkey, Of the neighboring Mar- 
shalsea, Who departed this life, universally respected, on the thirty-first of 
December, One thousand eight hundred and eighty-six. Aged eighty-three years. 
Also of his truly beloved and truly loving wife Amy, Whose maiden name was 
Dorrit, Who survived his loss not quite forty-eight hours, And who breathed 
her last in the Marshalsea aforesaid. There she was born. There she lived, 
There she died." 

He finally musters up courage to approach Miss Dorrit in rela- 
tion to the subject that is so near his heart. She, however, not 
only gives him no encouragement, but requests him very plainly 
(though with the utmost delicacy and consideration) never to refer 
to the matter again. 

It was an affecting illustration of the fallacy of human projects, to behold her 
lover . . . creeping along by the worst back-streets, and composing as he went 
the following new inscription for a tombstone in St. George's churchyard : — 

" Here lie the mortal remains of John Chivery, Never any thing worth 
mentioning. Who died about the end of the year One thousand eight hundred 
and twenty-six. Of a broken heart, Requesting with his last breath that the 
word Amy might be inscribed over his ashes, Which was accordingly directed 
to be done. By his afflicted parents." 

John does not easily recover from the blow he has received ; and 
when, long afterwards, he learns that Little Dorrit is to be married 
to Arthur Clennam, he is made very wretched, though he endeavors 
to bear the intelligence with manly fortitude. He cannot refrain, 
however, from composing on that ill-starred night the following 
monumental inscription : — 



Hfttle Wovxlt, 381 

STRANGER I 
RESPECT THE TOMB OF 

JOHN CHIVERY, Junior, 

WHO DIED AT AN ADVANCED AGE 

NOT NECESSARY TO MENTION. 

HE ENCOUNTERED HIS RIVAL IN A DISTRESSED STATE, 

AND FELT INCLINED 

TO HAVE A ROUND WITH HIM J 

BUT, FOR THE SAKE OF THE LOVED ONE, 

CONQUERED THOSE FEELINGS OF BITTERNESS 

AND BECAME 

MAGNANIMOUS. 

(Bk. I, ch. xviii, xix, xxii, xxv, xxxi, xxxv, xxxvi ; Bk. II, cli. 

xviii, xix, xxvi, xxvii, xxix, xxxi, xxxiii, xxxiv.) 
Chivery, Mrs. Wife of John Chivery, and keeper of a small 

tobacco-shop round the corner of Horsemonger Lane. (Bk. I, ch. 

xviii, xxii, xxv.) 
Ciennam, Arthur. Reputed son, but really the adopted son, of 

Mrs. Clennam. He gives this account of himself to Mr. Meao;les : — 

" I am the son of a hard father and mother. I am the only child of parents 
who weighed, measured, and priced every thing; for whom what could not be 
weighed, measured, and priced, had no existence. Strict people, as the phrase 
is, professors of a stern religion, their very religion was a gloomy sacrifice of 
tastes and sympathies that were never their own, offered up as a part of a 
bargain for the security of their possessions. Austere faces, inexorable disci- 
pline, penance in this world and terror in the next, nothing graceful or gentle 
anywhere, and the void in my cowed heart everywhere, — this was my child- 
hood, if I may so misuse the word as to apply it to such a beginning of 
life." 

At the age of twenty he had been sent to China to join his 

father, a merchant who had been living in that country for some 

years, taking care of the business there, while his mother managed 

the business at home. He stays there till he is forty, and, his 

father then dying, he returns to London to see his mother ; but 

she receives him very coldly, as her old servant and confidential 

adviser Flintwinch also does. Finding a young woman in the 

house, who is called " Little Dorrit," and who is employed by his 

mother to do needle-work, and feeling: a growins: interest in her, he 

ascertains her history, and is the means of her father's release from 

the Marshalsea. Being afterwards unfortunate in business, he is 

arrested for debt, and is thrown into the same prison ; but he finds 

a fast friend in Little Dorrit, and, when he at last gains his liberty, 

she marries him. (Bk. I, ch. ii, iii, v, vii-x, xii-xvii, xxii, xxiv- 

xxviii, xxxi, xxxii, xxxiv-xxxvi ; Bk. II, ch. iii, iv, viii-xi, xiii, xx, 

xxii, xxiii, xxvi-xxxiv.) 



382 ?ri)e Bfcftens ISfctfonars. 

Clennam, Mrs. The supposed motlier of Arthur Clennam, who 
turns out, however, to have been the child of another woman, whom 
his father had known before marrying Mrs. Clennam. She is a hard, 
stern woman, with cold gray eyes, cold gray hair, and an immov- 
able face. Though an invalid, who has lost the use of her limbs, 
and is confined to a single room, she retains the full vigor of her 
mind, and is still, as she has always been, a thorough woman of busi- 
ness. An austere moralist, a religionist whose faith is in a system 
of gloom and darkness, of vengeance and destruction, she yet does 
not hesitate to suppress a will by virtue of which two thousand 
guineas were to go to Little Dorrit on her coming of age. Finding 
that her guilt has been discovered, and is certain to be made 
known, she throws herself on the mercy of the girl she has so 
grievously wronged, and is freely forgiven. (Bk. I, ch. iii-v, viii, 
XV, xxix, XXX ; Bk. II, ch. x, xvii, xxiii, xxviii, xxx, xxxi.) 

Cripples, Master. A white-faced boy, son of Mr. Cripples. 
(Bk. I, ch. ix.) 

Cripples, Mr. Teacher of an academy for " evening tuition." 
(Bk. I, ch. ix.) 

Dawes. A rosy-faced, gay, good-humored nurse, who is Miss 
Wade's special antipathy. 

Dorrit, Amy, called Little Dorrit. Daughter of Mr. William 
Dorrit. She becomes the wife of Arthur Clennam. (Bk. I, ch. iii, 
v-ix, xii-xvi, xviii-xxv, xxvii, xxix, xxxi, xxxii, xxxv, xxxvi ; Bk. 
II, ch. i-viii, xi, xiv, xv, xix, xxiv, xxvi, xxvii, xxix-xxxi, xxxiii, 
xxxiv.) 

Dorrit, Edward, called Tip. The brother of Little Dorrit; 
a spendthrift and an idler, for whom his sister is always calculating 
and planning. (Bk. I, ch. vi-viii, xii, xviii, xx, xxii, xxiv, xxxi, 
xxxv, xxxvi ; Bk. 11, ch. i, iii, v, xi, xv, xix, xxiv, xxix, xxxiii, 
xxxiv.) 

Tip tired of every thing. . . . His small second mother [his sister Amy] got 
him into a warehouse, into a market-garden, into the hop-trade, into the law 
again, into an auctioneer's, into a brewery, into a stockbroker's, into the law 
again, into a coach-office, into a wagon-office, into the law again, into a general 
dealer's, into a distillery, into the law again, into a wool-house, into a dry-goods- 
house, into the Billingsgate trade, into the foreign fruit-trade, and into the 
docks. But, whatever Tip went into, he came out of tired, announcing that he 
had cut it. 

Dorrit, Fanny. Daughter of Mr. William Dorrit, and elder sis- 
ter of Amy, or " Little Dorrit." She is, for a time, a ballet-dancer 



Hittle SBorrit. 383 

but finally marries Mr. Edmund Sparkler, and rules him with a 
rod of iron. (Bk. I, ch. vi-ix, xviii, xx, xxxi, xxxv, xxxvi ; Bk. II, 
ch. i-iii, v-vii, xi, xiv-xvi, xviii, xix, xxiv, xxxiii, xxxiv.) 
Dorrit, Mr. Frederick. Brother to Mr. William Dorrit. (Bk. I, 
ch. vii-ix, xix, xx, xxvi ; Bk. II, ch. i, iv, v, xix.) 

There was a ruined uncle in the family group, — ruined by his brother, the 
Father of the Marshalsea, and knowing no more how than his ruiner did, but 
accepting the fact as an inevitable certainty. Naturally a retired and simple 
man, he had shown no particular sense of being ruined at the time Avhen that 
calamity fell upon him, further than that he left off washing himself when the 
shock was announced, and never took to that luxury any more. He had been 
• a very indifferent musical amateur in his better days ; and, when he fell with 
his brother, resorted, for support, to playing a clarionet as dirty as himself in a 
small theatre orchestra. 

Dorrit, Mr. William. )_ A prisoner for debt in the Marshalsea ; a 
shy, retiring man, well-looking, though in an effeminate style, with 
a mild voice, curling hair, and irresolute hands. 7 

The affairs of this debtor were perplexed by a partnership of which he knew 
no more than that he had invested money in it; by legal matters of assignment 
and settlement, conveyance here and conveyance there, suspicion of unlawful 
preference of creditors in this direction, and of mysterious spiriting away of 
property in that : and, as nobody on the face of the earth could be more in- 
capable of explaining any single item in the heap of confusion than the debtor 
himself, nothing comprehensible could be made of his case. To question him 
in detail, and endeavor to reconcile his answers, to closet him with accountants 
and sharp practitioners learned in the wiles of insolvency and bankruptcy, was 
only to put the case out at compound interest of incomprehensibility. The ir. 
resolute fingers fluttered more and more ineffectually about the trembling lip on 
every such occasion, and the sharpest practitioners gave him up as a hopeless 
job. 

His young wife joins him with their two children ; and in a few 
months another child is born to them, a girl, from whom the story 
takes its name. When this child is eight years old, his wife dies. 
Years pass by, and he becomes gray-haired and venerable, and is 
known in the prison as the Father of the Marshalsea, — a title he 
grows to be very vain of. From an early period, his little daughter 
devotes herself to the task of being his support and protection, 
becoming, in all things but precedence, the head of the fallen fam- 
ily, and bearing in her own heart its anxieties and shames.] After 
twenty-five years spent within the prison walls, Mr. Dorrit proves to 
be heir-at-law to a great estate that has long remained, unknown of, 
unclaimed and accumulating. He l^ves the Marshalsea a rich 
man : but that quarter of a century behind its bars has done its 
work ; and he leaves it with a failing intellect, and makes himself 



384 2r!)e 219fcltens Bfctfonatg. 

ridiculous by his pride, by the lofty airs he gives himself, and by his 
unwillingness to recall at any time the old days of his poverty and 
confinement. He declines slowly but surely, and atjast dies in a 
palace at Rome, fancying it to be the Marshalsea.J (Bk. I, ch. 
vi-LX, xviii, xix, xxii, xxiii, xxxi, xxxii, xxxv, xxxvi ; Bk. II, ch. 
i-iii, v-vii, xii, xiii, xv-xix.) 

Doyce, Daniel. An engineer and inventor, who becomes the part- 
ner of Arthur Cleunam. (Bk. I, ch. x, xii, xvi, xvii, xxiii, xxvi, 
xxviii, xxxiv ; Bk. II, ch. viii, xiii, xxii, xxvi, xxxiv.) 

B"s Aunt, Mr. See Mr. F's Aunt. 

Finching, Mrs. Flora. Daughter of Christopher Casby ; a 
wealthy widow of some thirty-eight or forty years of age, sentimen- 
tal and affected, but thoroughly good-hearted. She talks with the 
most disjointed volubility, pointing her conversation with nothing 
but commas, and very few of them. In this character Mr. Dickens 
has drawn the portrait of a married lady with whom, when a very 
young man, he was deeply in love, and whom, as a young girl, ha 
introduced into " David Copperfield " as Dora, David's " child-wife." 
"The fancy had a comic humor in it," says Forster, which " he 
found it impossible to resist, but it was kindly and pleasant to the 
last ; and, if the later picture showed him plenty to laugh at in this 
retrospect of his youth, there was nothing he thought of more ten- 
derly than the earlier, as long as he was conscious of any thing." 

Most men will be found sufficiently true to themselves to be true to an old 
idea. It is no proof of an inconstant mind, but exactly the opposite, when the 
idea will not bear close comparison with the reality ; and the contrast is a fatal 
shock to it. Such was [Arthur] Clennam's case. In his youth he had ardently 
loved this woman, and had heaped upon her all the locked-up wealth of his 
affection and imagination. . . . Ever since that memorable time, though he 
had, until the night of his arrival, as completely dismissed her from any associ- 
ation with his present or future as if she had been dead (which she might easily 
have been, for any thing he knew), he had kept the old fancy of the past, un- 
changed, in its old sacred place. And now, after all. The Last of the Patriarchs 
[Mr. Casby] coolly walked into the parlor, saying, in effect, " Be good enough to 
throviT^ it down and dance upon it : this is Flora." 

Flora, always tall, had grown to be very broad too, and short of breath; but 
that was not much. Flora, whom he had left a lily, had become a peony; but 
that was not much. Flora, who had seemed enchanting in all she said and 
thought, was diffuse and silly : that was a good deal. Flora, who had been 
spoiled and artless long ago, was determined to be spoiled and artless now : 
that was a fatal blow. 



" Oh good gracious me I hope you never kept yourself a bachelor so long 
on my account I " tittered Flora; " but of course you never did why should you, 



nettle JBorrft. 385 

pray don't answer, I don't know where I 'm running to, oh do tell me something 
about the Chinese ladies whether their eyes are really so long and narrow always 
putting me in mind of mother-of-pearl fish at cards and do they really wear 
tails down their back, and plaited too or is it only the men, and when they 
pull their hair so very tight off their foreheads don't they hurt tliemselves, 
and why do they stick little bells all over their bridges and temples and hats 
and things or don't they really do it I " Flora gave him another of her old 
glances. Instantly she went on again, as if he had spoken in reply for some 
time : — 

"Then it 's all true and they really dot good gracious Arthur I — pray ex- 
cuse me — old habit — Mr. Clennam far more proper — what a country to live 
in for 80 long a time, and with so many lanterns and umbrellas too how 
very dark and wet the climate ought to be and no doubt actually is, and the 
sums of money that must be made by those two trades where everytody 
carries them and hangs them everywhere, the little shoes too and the feet 
screwed back in infancy is quite surprising, what a traveller you are I " 

In this ridiculous distress, Clennam received another of the old glances, 
without in the least knowing what to do with it. 

" Dear dear," said Flora, " only to think of the changes at home Arthur 
— cannot overcome it, seems so natural, Mr. Clennam far more proper— since 
you became familiar with the Chinese customs and language which I am per- 
suaded you speak like a native if not better for you were always quick and 
clever though immensely difficult no doubt, I am sure the tea-chests alone 
would kill me if I tried, such changes Arthur — I am doing it again, seems 
so natural, most improper — as no one could have believed, who could have 
ever imagined Mrs. Finching when I can't imagine it myself 1" 

'' Is that your married name ? " asked Arthur, struck, in the midst of all 
this, by a certain warmth of heart that expressed itself in her tone wlien 
she referred, however oddly, to the youthful relation in which they had stood 
to one another. Finching ? " 

" Finching oh yes, is n't it a dreadful name, but as Mr. F. said when he pro- 
posed to me which he did seven times and handsomely consented I must say to 
be what he used to call on liking twelvemonths after all, he was n't answerable 
for it and could n't help it could he, excellent man, not at all like you but excel- 
lent man 1 " 

(Bk. T, ch. xiii, xxiii, xxiv, xxxv ; Bk. II, ch. ix, xvii, xxiii, xxxiv.) 
Flintwinch, Affery. An old servant of Mrs. Clennam's ; wife of 
Jeremiah Flintwinch. She is apt to fall into a dreamy sleep-wak- 
ing state, much to the displeasure of her husband, who tells her, 
« If you ever have a dream of this sort again, it '11 be a sign of 
your being in want of physic, and I '11 give you such a dose, old 
woman, — such a dose I " (Bk. I, ch. iii-v, xv, xxix, xxx ; Bk. II, 
ch. X, xvii, xxiii, xxx, xxxi.) 
Flintwinch, Ephraim. A lunatic-keeper ; Jeremiah's " double '* 

and confederate. (Bk. I, ch. iv ; Bk. II, ch. xxx.) 
Flintwinch, Jeremiah. Servant and afterwards partner of Mrs. 
Clennam. He is a short, bald old man, bent and dried, with a owe 
sided crab-like manner of locomotion. 
33 



386 Srje 23icfeens IBictfonarj. 

His neck was so twisted, that the knotted ends of his white cravat usually 
dangled under one ear ; his natural acerbity and energj', always contending 
with a second nature of habitual repression, gave his features a swollen and 
suffused look ; and, altogether, he had a weird appearance of having hanged 
himself at one time or other, and of having gone about ever since, halter and 
all, exactly as some timely hand had cut him down. 

(Bk. I, ch. iii-v, xv, xxix, xxx ; Bk. IT, ch. x, xvii, xxiii, xxviii, 
XXX, xxxi.) 
General, Mrs. A widow-lady of forty-five, whom Mr. Dorrit 
engages to " form the mind " and manners of his daughters. 

In person, Mrs. General, including her skirts, which had much to do with it, 
was of a dignified and imposing appearance ; ample, rustling, gravely volumi- 
nous, always upright behind the proprieties. She might have been taken — had 
been taken — to the top of the Alps and the bottom of Herculaneum, without 
disarranging a fold in her dress, or displacing a pin. If her countenance and 
hair had rather a floury appearance, as though from living in some transcen- 
dently genteel mill, it was rather because she was a chalky creation altogether, 
than because she mended her complexion with violet-powder, or had turned 
gray. If her eyes had no expression, it was probably because they haa nothing 
to express. If she had few wrinkles, it was because her mind had never 
traced its name or any other inscription on her face. A cool, waxy, blown-out 
woman, who had never lighted well. 

Mrs. General had no opinions. Her way of forming a mind was to prevent 
it from forming opinions. She had a little circular set of mental grooves, or 
rails, on which she started little trains of other people's opinions, which never 
overtook one another, and never got anywhere. Even her propriety could not 
dispute that there was impropriety in the world; but Mrs. General's way of 
getting rid of it was to put it out of sight, and make believe that there was no 
such thing. This was another of her ways of forming a mind, — to cram all 
articles of difficulty into cupboards, lock them up, and say they had no exist- 
ence. It was the easiest way, and, beyond all comparison, the properest. 

Mrs. General was not to be told of any thing shocking. Accidents, miseries, 
and offences were never to be mentioned before her. Passion was to go to sleep 
in the presence of Mrs . General, and blood was to change to milk and water. The 
little that was left in the world when all these deductions were made, it was 
Mrs. General's province to varnish. In that formation-process of hers she 
dipped the smallest of brushes into the largest of pots, and varnished the 
surface of every object that came under consideration. The more cracked it 
was, the more Mrs. General varnished it. 

Observing that Amy Dorrit calls Mr. Dorrit " father," Mrs. 
General informs her that " papa " is a preferable mode of address. 

" Father is rather vulgar, my dear. The word ' papa,' besides, gives a 
pretty form to the lips. Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, and prism, are all 
very good words for the lips ; especially prunes and prism. You will find it 
serviceable in the formation of a demeanor. If you sometimes say to yourself 
in company, — on entering a room, for instance, — Papa, potatoes, poultry, 
prunes, and prism, prunes, and prism." 

'• Pray, my child," said Mr. Dorrit, " attend to the — hum — precepts of Mrs 
General." 



Ufttle Moxxit, 387 

Poor Little Dorrit, with a rather forlorn glance at that eminent varnisher, 
promised to try. 

" You say, Amy," pursued Mr. Dorrit, " that you think you require time 
Time for what ? » 

Another pause. 

" To become accustomed to the novelty of my life, was all I meant," said 
Little Dorrit, with her loving eyes upon her father, whom she had very nearly 
addressed as poultry, if not prunes and prism too, in her desire to submit her- 
self to Mrs. General, and please him. 

(Bk. II, ch. i-v, vii, xi, xv, xix.) 

Gowan, Henry. An artist, who marries Miss Minnie. Meagles. 

(Bk. I, ch. xvii, xxvi, xxviii, xxxiii, xxxiv ; Bk. U, ch. i, iii-viii, 

xi, xiv, xvii, xx, xxi, xxxiii.) 

The Gowan family were a very distant ramification of the Barnacles ; and 
. . . the paternal Gowan, originally attached to a legation abroad, had been 
pensioned off as a commissioner of nothing particular somewhere or other, and 
had died at his post with his drawn salary in his hand, nobly defending it to the 
last extremity. In consideration of this eminent public service, the Barnacle 
then in power had recommended the crown to bestow a pension of two or three 
hundred a year on his widow ; to which the next Barnacle in power had added 
certain shady and sedate apartments in the palace at Hampton Court, where 
the old lady still lived, deploring the degeneracy of the times, in company with 
several other old ladies of both sexes. Her son Mr. Henry Gowan, inheriting 
from his father, the commissioner, that very questionable help in life, a very 
small independence, had been difficult to settle ; the rather as public appoint- 
ments chanced to be scarce, and his genius during his earlier manhood was of 
that exclusively agricultural character which applies itself to the cultivation 
of wild oats. At last he had declared that he would become a painter; partly 
because he had always had an idle knack that way, and partly to grieve the souls 
of the Barnacles in chief who had not provided for him. So it had come to pass 
successively, first, that several distinguished ladies had been frightfully shocked; 
then that portfolios of his performances had been handed about o' nights, and 
declared with ecstacy to be perfect Claudes, perfect Cuyps, perfect phenomena; 
then that Lord Decimus had bought his picture, and had asked the president 
and council to dinner at a blow, and had said with his own magnificent gravity, 
" Do you know, there appears to me to be really immense merit in that work ? *' 
and, in short, that people of condition had absolutely taken pains to bring him 
into fashion. But somehow it had all failed. The prejudiced public had stood 
out against it obstinately. They had determined not to admire Lord Deciraus's 
picture. They had determined to believe, that in every service, except their 
own, a man must qualify himself, by striving, early and late, and by working 
heart and soul, might and main. 

Gowan, Mrs. His mother ; a courtly old lady, a little lofty in 
her manner. (Bk. I, ch. xvii, xxvi, xxxiii, xxxiv ; Bk. II, ch. v, 
viii.) 

Gowan, Mrs. Henry, See Meagles, Minnie. 

Haggage, Doctor. A poor debtor in the Marshalsea ; a hoarse, 
pufty, red-faced, dirty, brandy-drinking, medical scarecrow, whc 
assists Little Dorrit into the world. (Bk. I, ch. vi, vii.) 



388 Srje ISfcftens Bfctfonarj. 

Jenkinson. A messenger at the Circumlocution Office. (Bk. I, 

ch. X.) 
Lagnier. See Rigaud. 
Maggy. A grand-daughter of Mrs. Bangham's, and a protegee of 

Little Dorrit's ; afterwards an assistant to Mrs. Plornish. (Bk. I, 

ch. ix, xiv, XX, xxii, xxiv, xxxi, xxxii, xxxv, xxxvi ; Bk. 11, ch. iii, 

iv, xiii, xxix, xxxiii, xxxiv.) 

She was about eight and twenty, with large bones, large features, large feet 
and hands, large eyes, and no hair. Her large eyes were limpid and almost color- 
less : they seemed to be very little affected by light, and to stand unnaturally still. 
There was also that attentive, listening expression in her face, which is seen 
in the faces of the blind; but she was not blind, having one tolerably servicea- 
ble eye. Her face was not exceedingly ugly, though it was only redeemed from 
being so by a smile, — a good-humored smile, and pleasant in itself, but rendered 
pitiable by being constantly there. 

" When Maggy was ten years old," said Dorrit [to Arthur Clennam], watch- 
ing her face while she spoke, "she had a bad fever, sir; and she has never 
grown any older ever since." 

" Ten years old," said Maggy, nodding her head. " But what a nice hos- 
pital I So comfortable ; was n't it ? Oh, so nice it was I Such a ev'nly place I " 

" She had never been at peace before, sir," said Dorrit, turning towards 
Arthur for an instant, and speaking low, " and she always runs off upon that." 

" Such beds there is there I " cried Maggy. '' Such lemonades I Such oranges I 
Such d'licious broth and wine I Such chicking f Oh, ain't it a delightful place 
to go and stop at I " 

" So Maggy stopped there as long as she could," said Dorrit in her former 
tone of telling a child's story, — the tone designed for Maggy's ear; " and at last, 
when she could stop there no longer, she came out. Then, because she was 
never to be more than ten years old, however long she lived " — 

" However long she lived," echoed Maggy. 

"And because she was very weak; indeed, was so weak, that, when she 
began to laugh, she could n't stop herself, which was a great pity " — 

(Maggy mighty grave of a sudden.) 

" Her grandmother did not know what to do with her, and for some years 
was very unkind to her indeed. At length, in course of time, Maggy began to 
take pains to improve herself, and to be very attentive and very industrious; 
and, by degrees, was allowed to come in and out as often as she liked, and got 
enough to do to support herself. And that," said Little Dorrit, clapping the 
two groat hands together again, *' is Maggy's history, as Maggy knows I " 

'^/Laxoon, Captain. A horse-jockey ; one of Mr. Edward Dorrit's 

creditors. (Bk. I, ch. xii.) 
Marshalsea, Father of the. See Dorrit, Mr. William. 
Meagles, Mr. A retired banker, good-natured and benevolent, 

and always priding himself on being a practical man. (Bk. I, ch. 

ii, X, xii, xvi, xvii, xxiii, xxvi-xxix, xxxiii, xxxiv ; Bk. 11, ch. viii- • 

X, xxxiii, ^xxiv.) 



HittU iDorrit ■- 389 

Meagles, Mrs. His wife ; a comely and healthy woman, with a 
pleasant English face, which, Uke her husband's, has been looking 
at homely things for five and fifty years or more, and shines with a 
bright reflection of them. (Bk. I, ch. ii, xvi, xvii, xxviii, xxxiii, 
xxxiv ; Bk. II, ch. viii, ix, xxxiii, xxxiv.) 

Meagles, Minnie, called Pet. Their daughter ; afterwards the 
wife of Mr. Henry Gowan. (Bk. I, ch. ii, xvi, xvii, xxvi, xxviii, 
xxxiv ; Bk. H, ch. i, iii, iv-viii, xi, xxviii, xxxiii.) 

Pet was about twenty, — a fair girl with rich brown hair hanging flee in 
natural ringlets; a lovely girl, with a frank face and wonderful eyes, so 
large, so soft, so bright, set to such perfection in her kind good head I She was 
round and fresh and dimpled and spoilt, and there was in Pet an air of timidity . 
and dependence which was the best weakness in the world, and gave her the 
only crowning charm a girl so pretty and pleasant could have been without. 

Merdle, Mr. A London banker, who, after running a remarkably 
successful career, becomes a bankrupt, and commits suicide. (Bk. 
I, ch. xxi, xxxiii ; Bk. II, ch. v, vii, xii-xvi, xviii, xix, xxiv, xxv, 
xxviii.) 

Mr. Merdle was immensely rich ; a man of prodigious enterprise ; a Midas 
without the ears, who turned all he touched to gold. He was in every thing 
good, from banking to building. He was in parliament, of course. He was in 
the city, necessarily. He was chairman of this, trustee of that, president of 
the other. The weightiest of men had said to projectors, " Now, what name 
have you got ? Have you got Merdle ? " And, the reply being in the negative, 
had said, " Then I won't look at you." . . . 

He was tlie most disinterested of men, — did every thing for society, and got 
as little for himself, out of all his gain and care, as a man might. 

That is to say, it may be supposed that he got all he wanted, otherwise, with 
unlimited wealth, he would have got it. But his desire was, to the utmost, 
to satisfy society (whatever that was), and take up all its drafts upon him for 
tribute. He did not shine in company ; he had not very much to say for him- 
self; he was a reserved man, with a broad, overhanging, watchful head, that 
particular kind of dull red color in his cheeks which is rather stale than fresh, 
and a somewhat uneasy expression about his coat-cufFs as if they were in his 
confidence, and had reasons for being anxious to hide his hands. In the little 
he said, he was a pleasant man enough ; plain, emphatic about public and pri- 
vate confidence, and tenacious of the utmost deference being shown by every 
one, in all things, to society. In this same society (if that were it which came 
to his dinners, and to Mrs. Merdle's receptions and concerts), he hardly seemed 
to enjoy himself much, and was mostly to be found against walls, and behind 
doers. Also when he went out to it, instead of its coming home to him, he 
seemed a little fatigued, and, upon the whole, rather more disposed for bed ; but 
he was always cultivating it, nevertheless, and always moving in it, and always 
laying out money on it with the greatest liberality. 

Merdle, Mrs. His wife, and the mother of Mr. Edmund Sparkler; 
a very fashionable lady. 
33* 



390 2ri)e IBfcfeens Bictionats. 

The lady was not young and fresh from the hand of Nature, but was young and 
fresh from the hand of her maid. She had large, unfeeling, handsome eyes, 
and dark, unfeeling, handsome hair, and a broad, unfeeling, handsome bosom, 
and was made the most of in every particular. Either because she had a cold, or 
because it suited her face, she wore a rich white fillet tied over her head, and 
under her chin. And if ever there were an unfeeling, handsome chin, that looked 
as if, for certain, it had never been, in familiar parlance, '' chucked " by the 
hand of man, it was the chin curbed up so tight and close by that laced 
bridle. 

(Bk. I, ch. XX, xxi, xxxiii ; Bk. 11, ch. iii, v, vii, xii, xiv-xvi, xix, 
xxiv, XXV, xxxiii.) 

Mr. F.'s Aunt. A singular old lady, who is a legacy left to Mrs. 
Flora Finching by her deceased husband. 

This was an amazing little old woman, with a face like a staring wooden doll, 
(too cheap for expression), and a stiff yellow wig perched unevenly on the 
top of her head, as if the child who owned the doll had driven a tack through it 
anywhere, so that it only got fastened on. Another remarkable thing in this 
little old woman was, that the same child seemed to have damaged her face in 
two or three places with some blunt instrument in the nature of a spoon; her 
countenance, and particularly the tip of her nose, presenting the phenomena of 
several dints, generally answering to the bowl of that article. A further re- 
markable thing in this little old woman was, that she had no name but Mr. F.'s 
Aunt. 

The major characteristics discoverable by the stranger in Mr. F.'s Aunt were 
extreme severity and grim taciturnity, sometimes interrupted by a propensity 
to offer remarks, in a deep warning voice, which, being totally uncalled for by 
any thing said by anybody, and traceable to no association of ideas, confounded 
and terrified the mind. Mr. F.'s Aunt may have thrown in these observations 
on some system of her own, and it may have been ingenious, or even subtle; but 
the key to it was wanted. 

(Bk. I, ch. xiii, xxiii, xxiv, xxxv ; Bk. II, ch. ix, xxxiv.) 

Nandy, John Edward. Father to Mrs. Plornish ; an old man 
with a weak piping voice, though his daughter considers him " a 
sweet singer." (Bk. I, ch. xiii ; Bk. II, ch. xiii, xxvi, xxvii.) 

Pancks, Mr. Mr. Casby's collector of rents. 

He was [a short, dark man] dressed in black and rusty iron-gray ; had jet- 
black beads of eyes, a scrubby little black chin, wiry black hair striking out from 
his head in prongs, like forks or hair-pins, and a complexion that was very 
dingy by nature, or very dirty by art, or a compound of nature and art. He had 
dirty liands and dirty broken nails, and looked as if he had been in the coals; 
he was in a perspiration, and snorted and sniffed and puffed and blew like a 
little laboring steam-engine. 

Though the agent of a man, who, despite his benevolent and 
patriarchal air, is a hard, avaricious old sinner, and though, in 
accordance with his instructions, he periodically squeezes and har- 
asses his employer's tenants, he is by no means a cruel or un- 



SLlttU ©orrft. 391 

generous man. Indeed, he is so chafed and exasperated by the 
disagreeable nature of his work, and by the hypocrisy of his " pro- 
prietor," that he makes up his mind to seek some other occupation 
Meeting Mr. Casby, one day, in Bleeding Heart Yard, 

Going close up to the most venerable of men, and halting in front of the bottle- 
green waistcoat, [he] made a trigger of his right thumb and forefinger, applied 
the same to the brim of the broad-brimmed hat, and, with singular smartness and 
precision, shot it off the polished head as if it had been a large marble. 

Having taken this little liberty with the patriarchal person, Mr. Pancks 
further astounded and attracted the Bleeding Hearts by saying in an audible 
voice, " Now, you sugary swindler, I mean to have it out with you 1 " 

Mr. Pancks and the patriarch were instantly the centre of a press, all eyes and 
ears : windows were thrown open, and door-steps were thronged. 

" "NVTiat do you pretend to be ? " said Mr. Pancks. " What 's your moral game ? 
What do you go in for ? Benevolence ; an't it ? You benevolent ! " Here Mr. 
Pancks, apparently without the intention of hitting him, but merely to relieve 
his mind, and expand his superfluous power in wholesome exercise, aimed a blow 
at the bumpy head, which the bumpy head ducked to avoid. This singular per- 
formance was repeated, to the ever-increasing admiration of the spectators, at 
the end of every succeeding article of Mr. Pancks's oration. 

" I have discharged myself from your service," said Pancks, " that I may tell 
you what you are. You 're one of a lot of impostors that are the worst lot of all 
the lots to be met with. . . . You 're a driver in disguise, a screwer by deputy, a 
wringer and squeezer and shaver by substitute I You 're a philanthropic sneak I 
You 're a shabby deceiver I " 

(The repetition of the performance at this point was received with a burst of 
laughter.) 

" Ask these good people who 's the hard man here. They '11 tell you Pancks, 
1 believe." 

This was confirmed with cries of " Certainly 1 " and " Hear I " 

" But I tell you, good people, — Casby ! This mound of meekness, this lump of 
love, this bottle-green smiler, — this is your driver I " said Pancks . " If you want to 
see the man who would flay you alive, here he is ! Don't look for him in me, at thirty 
shillings a week, but look for him in Casby, at I don't know how much a year." 

" Good I " cried several voices. " Hear Mr. Pancks 1 " 

"Hear Mr. Pancks?" cried that gentleman (after repeating the popular per- 
formance), "yes, I should think sol It 's almost time to hear Mr. Pancks! 
Mr. Pancks has come down into the yard to-night on purpose that you should 
hear him. Pancks is only the works; but here 's the winder 1 " 

The audience would have gone over to Mr. Pancks as one man, woman, and 
child, but for the long, gray, silken locks, and the broad-brimmed hat. 

" Here 's the stop," said Pancks " that sets the tune to be ground. And there 
is but one tune, and its name is Grind, Grind, Grind 1 Here 's the proprietor, 
and here 's his grubber. ..." He provides the pitch, and I handle it, and it 
sticks to me. Now," said Mr. Pancks, closing upon his late proprietor again, 
from whom he had withdrawn a little for the better display of him to the yard, 
" as I am not accustomed to speak in public, and as I have made a rather lengthy 
speech, all circumstances considered, I shall bring my observations to a close by 
requesting you to get out of this." 

The Last of the Patriarchs had been so seized by assault, and required so 
much room to catch an idea in, and so much more room to turn it in, that he 



392 2r!)e Bicfecns Bfctfonar^. 

had not a word to offer in reply. He appeared to be meditating some patri- 
archal way out of his delicate position, when Mr. Pancks once more, suddenly 
applying the trigger to his hat, shot it off again with his former dexterity. On 
the preceding occasion, one or two of the Bleeding-Heart- Yarders had obsequi- 
ously picked it up, and handed it to its owner; but Mr. Pancks had so far im- 
pressed his audience, that the patriarch had to turn, and stoop for it himself. 

Quick as lightning, Mr. Pancks, who for some moments had had his right 
hand in his coat-pocket, whipped out a pair of shears, swooped upon the patri- 
arch behind, and snipped off short the sacred locks that flowed upon his 
shoulders. In a paroxysm of animosity and rapidity, Mr. Pancks then caught 
the broad-brimmed hat out of the astounded patriarch's hand, cut it down into 
a mere stewpan, and fixed it on the patriarch^s head. 

Before the frightful results of this desperate action Mr. Pancks himself re- 
coiled in consternation. A bare-polled, goggle-eyed, big-headed, lumbering 
personage stood, staring at him, not in the least impressive, not in the least 
venerable, Avho seemed to have started out of the earth to ask what was become 
of Casby. After staring at this phantom in return, in silent awe, Mr. Pancks 
threw down his shears, and fled for a place of hiding, where he might lie shel- 
tered from the consequences of his crime. Mr. Pancks deemed it prudent to 
use all possible despatch in making off, though he was pursued by nothing but 
the sound of laughter in Bleeding Heart Yard, rippling through the air, and 
making it ring again. 

(Bk. I, ch. xii, xiii, xxiii-xxv, xxvii, xxix, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxv ; 
Bk. II, ch. ix, xi, xiii, xvii, xx, xxii, xxvi, xxviii-xxx, xxxii, 
xxxiv.) 

Patriarch, The. See Casby, Christopher. 

Pet. See Meagles, Minnie. 

Plornish, Mr. A plasterer living in Bleeding Heart Yard ; one 
of Mr. Casby's tenants, and a friend of Little Dorrit's ; a smooth- 
cheeked, fresh-colored, sandy-whiskered man of thirty ; long in the 
legs, yielding at the knees, foolish in the face, flannel-jacketed, 
lime- whitened. (Bk. I, ch. vi, ix, xii, xxiii, xxiv, xxxi, xxxvi ; Bk. 
IT. ch. iv, xiii, xxvii, xxix.) 

Plornish, Mrs. His wife ; a young woman, made somewhat slat- 
ternly in herself and her belongings by poverty ; and so dragged at 
by poverty and the children together, that their united forces have 
already dragged her face into wrinkles. (Bk. I, ch. vi, xii, xxiii, 
xxxi ; Bk. H, ch. iv, xiii, xxvi, xxvii, xxix, xxx.) 

Bigaud, alias Blandois, alias Lagnier. A chevalier d'industrie, 
with polished manners, but a scoundrel's heart. Having murdered 
his wife, and been lodged in a French jail, he contrives to effect 
his escape, and flees to England. Gaining a knowledge of Mrs. 
Clennam's frauds, he tries to wring from her a very large amount 
of hush-money, but is killed by the sudden falling of the bouse in 
which he is waitins for her. 



3lfttle Borrft. 393 

His eyes, too close together, . . . were sharp rather than bright ... . They 
had no depth or change : they glittered, and they opened and shut. So far, and 
waiving their use to himself, a clockmaker could have male a better pair. He 
had a hoolc nose, handsome after its kind, but too high between the eyes by 
probably just as much as his eyes were too near to one another. For the rest, 
he was large and tall in frame, had thin lips (where his thick mustache showed 
them at all), and a quantity of dry hair, of no definable color in its shaggy state, 
but shot with red. 

(Bk. I, ch. i, xi, xxix, xxx; Bk. II, ch. i, iii, vi, vii, ix, x, xvii, 

XX, xxii, xxiii, xxviii, xxx, xxxi, xxxiii.) 

Rugg, Miss Anastasia. Daughter of Mr. Rugg. She lias little 

nankeen spots, like shirt-buttons, all over her face ; and her yellow 

tresses are rather scrubby than luxuriant. (Bk. I, ch. xxv ; Bk. 

II, ch. xxvi, xxviii.) 

Miss Rugg was a lady of a little property, which she had acquired, together 
with much distinction in the neighborhood, by having her heart severely lacer- 
ated, and her feelings mangled, by a middle-aged baker [named Hawkins] , resi- 
dent in the vicinity, against whom she had, by the agency of Mr. Rugg, found 
it necessary to proceed at law to recover damages for a breach of promise of 
marriage. The baker having been, by the counsel for Miss Rugg, witheringly 
denounced on that occasion up to the full amount of twenty guineas, at the rate 
of about eighteen-pence an epithet, and having been cast in corresponding 
damages, still suffered occasional prosecution from the youth of Pentonville; 
but Miss Rugg, environed by the majesty of the law, and having her damages 
invested in the public securities, was regarded with consideration. 

Rugg, Mr. A general agent, accountant, and collector of debts, 
who is Mr. Pancks's landlord. He has a round white visage, — as 
if all his blushes had been drawn out of him long ago, — and 
a ragged yellow head like a worn-out hearth-broom. (Bk. I, ch. 
xxv, xxxii, XXXV, xxxvi; Bk. II, ch. xxvi, xxviii, xxxi v.) 

Sparkler, Mr, Edmund. Son of Mrs. Merdle by her first hus- 
band. He marries Fanny Dorrit, considering her to be " a young 
lady with no nonsense about her." (Bk. I, ch. xx, xxi, xxxiii ; Bk. 
n, ch. iii, vi, vii, xii, xiv-xvi, xviii, xxiv, xxxiii.) 

Mrs. Merdle's first husband had been a colonel, under whose auspices the 
bosom had entered into competition with the snows of North America, and 
had come off at little disadvantage in point of whiteness, and at none in point of 
>{oldnes8. The colonel's son was Mrs. Merdle's only child. He was of a chuckle- 
headed, high-shouldered make, with a general appearance of being not so much 
a young man as a swelled boy. He had given so few signs of reason, that a 
byword went among his companions, that his brain had been frozen up in a 
mighty frost which prevailed at St. John, New Brunswick, at the period of 
his birth there, and had never thawed from that hour. Another byword repre- 
sented him as having in his infancy, through the negligence of a nurse, fallen 
out of a high window on his head, which had been heard, by responsible wit- 
nesses, to crack. It is probable that both these representations were of ex post 
facto origin ; the young gentleman (whose expressive name was Sparkler) being 
monomaniacal in offering marriage to all manner of undesirable young ladies, 



894 S^fJe UBittens ©ictionarj. 

and in remarking of every successive young lady to whom he tendered a matri- 
monial proposal, that she was " a doosed fine gal, well educated too, with no 
biggodd nonsense about her." 

Sparkler, Mrs. Edmund. See Dorbit, Fanny. 

Stiltstalking, Lord Lancaster. A gray old gentleman of dig- 
nified and sullen appearance, whom the Circumlocution Office has 
maintained for many years as a representative of the Britannic 
majesty abroad. (Bk. I, ch. xxvi.) 

This noble refrigerator had iced several European courts in his time, and had 
done it with such complete success, that the very name of Englishman yet struck 
cold to the stomachs of foreigners who had the distinguished honor of remem- 
bering him at a distance of a quarter of a century. 

Tattycoram. See Beadle, Harriet. 

Tickit, Mrs. Mr. Meagles's cook and housekeeper. She makes 
Buchan's " Domestic Medicine " her constant vade-mecum, though 
she is beheved never to have consulted it to the extent of a single 
word in her life. (Bk. I, ch. xvi, xxxiv ; Bk. II, ch. ix, xxxiii.) 

Tinkler. Mr. William Dorrit's valet. (Bk. II, ch. iii, v, xv, xix.) 

Tip. See Dorrit, Edward. 

Wade, Miss. A woman with a sullen and ungovernable temper, 
a self-tormentor, who fancies that wrongs and insults are heaped 
upon her on every side. Finding a kindred spirit in Tattycoram, 
the adopted child of Mr. Meagles, she entices the girl to leave that 
excellent couple, and live with her, and, when she has done so, 
makes and keeps her as miserable, suspicious, and tormenting as 
herself. But Tattycoram grows tired of such a life, and at length 
returns, repentant and grateful, to her old master and mistress. 

One could hardly see the face, so still and scornful, set oflf by the arched dark 
eyebrows and the folds of dark hair, without wondering what its expression 
would be if a change came over it. That it could soften or relent appeared 
next to impossible. That it could deepen into anger or any extreme of defi- 
ance, and that it must change in that direction, when it changed at all, would 
have been its peculiar impression upon most observers. It was dressed and 
trimmed into no ceremony of expression. Although not an open face, there 
was no pretence in it. I am self-contained and self-reliant; your opinion is 
nothing to me ; I have no interest in you, care nothing for you, and see and 
hear you with indifierence, — this it said plainly. It said so in the proud eyes, 
in the lifted nostril, in the handsome but compressed and even cruel mouth. 
Cover either two of those channels of expression, and the third would have 
said so still. Mask them all, and the mere turn of the head would have shown 
an unsubduable nature. 

(Bk. I, ch. ii, xvi, xxvii, xxviii ; Bk. II, ch. ix, x, xx, xxi, 
xxxiii.) 
Wobbler, Mr. A functionary in the secretarial department of the 
Circumlocution Office. (Bk. I, ch. x.) 



JlittU 2!9oi;rft. 395 



PBINQIPAL mCIBENTS. 



BOOK I. — Chapter I. Rigand and Cavalletto, in prison in Marseilles, have their food 
brought them by the jailer and his little daughter; Rigaud gives Cavalletto the reason of 
bis imprisunmcnt ; Rigaud is carried out to his trial. — II. Mr. Meagles is impatient at the 
detention in quarantine; Mr. Meagles gives Arthur Clennam an account of Tatt3Xoram, 
and how they adopted her; confidence between Mr. Meagles and Mr. Clennam, in which 
some of tlio circumstances in the history of each are narrated; Miss Wade's indiflcrence 
at parting with her fellow-travellers; her influence over Tattycoram, who shows signs 
of discontent. — III. Arthur Clennam arrives home on a dismal Sunday evening, after an 
absence of twenty years; he is received without any emotion by the old serving-man, 
Jeremiah Flintvvinch, and as coldly welcomed by his mother; Aflfery gives Arthur some 
hints of the relations existing between his mother and Flintwinch, and tells him how she 
came to marry Jeremiah; Arthurh^s his memory- of an old sweethearti-evived. — IV. Mrs. 
Flintwinch sees, " in a dream," Jeremiah and his "Double," whom he intrusts with aa 
iron box, and dismisses from the house. —V. Arthur Clennam consults with his mother iit 
regard to the business of the house ; he intimates his suspicion that his father had unhap- 
pily committed a wrong against some one without making reparation; she threatens to 
renounce him if he ever renews the tliemc; Arthur relinquislies his share of the business, 
which the widow bestows upon Jeremiah; Little Dorrit appears in attendance on Mrs. 
Clennam: Arthur resolves to watch her, and know moi-e of her story. — VI. Mr. Dorrit 
and his lauiily enter the MarshaJsea; Little Dorrit is born; death of Mrs. Dorrit; Mr. 
Dorrit becomes the Father of the Marshalsea. — VII. Little Dorrit becomes the pet of the 
prison, and, as she grows older, the principal support of her father, and the head of the fallen 
family; Tip, after repeated fiilures to succeed in business, comes back to the Marshalsea 
as a regular; Arthur traces Little Dorrit to the Marshalsea. —VIII. He encounters Fred- 
crick Dorrit, who takes him into the prison, and introduces him to Mr. Dorrit; Mr. Dorrit 
gives him the history of a delicate action ; Mr. Clennam is locked in, and spends the night 
in prison. — IX. Arthur sends Little Dorrit a request to meet him at her uncle's lodgings; 
he questions her about the family reverses in the hope of releasing Mr. Dorrit; they meet 
Maggy in tlie street, and who Maggy is. — X. The Circumlocution Office, and its principle 
of How NOT TO DO IT ; Arthur Clennam makes inquiries at the Circumlocution Office about 
Mr. Dorrit's creditors, but gets no information; he encounters Mr. Meagles and Daniel 
Doyce; who Daniel Doj'ce is, and how he came in the Circumlocution Office; the party 
go to Bleeding Heart Yard. — XI. Rigaud, released bj' the law, arrives in Chalons, and 
stops at a cabaret, where he hears his ciiaracter discussed, and his crime denounced, by the 
guests; going to bed, he recognizes in the man who shares his room^his old companion, 
Cavalletto ; Cavalletto escapes from him in the morning. — XII. Clennam finds Mr. and 
Mrs. riornish, friends of Little Dorrit; through Mr. Plornish he compromises for Tip's 
debts, and secures his release. — XIII. Arthur renews his acquaintance with Mr. Casby ; 
meets Mr. Tancks, Mr. Casby's agent, and has the Flora of his early love and after-recollec- 
tions destroyed by an interview with the actual Flora; Arthur's introduction to " Mr. F.'s 
Aunt," who makes some verj' pertinent remarks ; Arthur and Mr. Tancks return to the city 
together; leaving Pancks, Arthur encounters Cavalletto, borne on a litter, his leg broken, 
and accompanies him to a hospital ; Arthurs sorrowful meditations are interrupted by the 
entrance of Little Dorrit and Maggy. — XIV. She tells him Tip is released, and how she 
would thank his benefactor if allowed to know him ; her suspicions that Flintwinch has 
watched her, and followed her home ; she begs Arthur not to bestow any gift upon her 
father; Little Dorrit and Maggy spend the night In the street. — XV. Mrs. Flintwinch 
dreams again, and hears an angry conversation between her husband and Mrs. Clennam. 
— XVI. Mr. Clennam goes to Twickenham to renew his acquaintance with the Meagleses 
and overtakes Daniel Doyce going there also; Mr. Meagles shows them his house and 
mriosities ; Arthur questions w hether he should allow himself to fall in love witli Pet, and 



396 ^ClJe Jiickens 359ictfonar2. 

decides ia the negative ; Tattycoram relates her interview with Miss Wade ; Clennam pro- 
poses to Mr. Meagles to recommend him as a partner to Daniel Doyce. — XVII. Clennam 
meets Henry Gowan at the Ferry, and afterwards at Mr. Meagles's house; Mr. Gowan 
proposes to introduce a friend; Arthur inquires of Doyce who Gowan is; Barnacle, jun., 
appears as Gowan's friend ; Arthur does not like the intimacy between Henry Gowan and 
Minnie. —XVIII. Young John Chivery forms an attachment for Little Dorrit; he presents 
a little testimonial to the Father of the Marshalsea; he follows Amy in her walk, and is 
on the point of making a declaration, when she checks him, and disappoints his hopes. — 
XIX. Contrast between the brothers William and Frederick Dorrit; Mr. Chivery's vexa- 
tion ; Mr. Dorrit explains to Amy the cause of Chivery's vexation ; he becomes despond- 
ent, and she comforts him. — XX. Little Dorrit seeks her sister at the theatre, where she 
is engaged as a dancer, during a rehearsal ; Fanny introduces her to Mrs. Merdle, the lady 
who gave her a bracelet; Mrs. Merdle gives Little Dorrit the circumstances of her son's 
attachment to Fanny, and the understanding she and Fanny have upon the subject. —XXI. 
Who the Merdles were, and their position in society ; a dinner-party at Mr. Merdle's, and 
that gentleman's complaint. — XXII. Mr. Clennam does not find favor with the Father of 
the Marshalsea; Mrs. Chivery shows Arthur her son's despondency, and explains the 
cause; Arthur and Little Dorrit meet on the bridge, and Maggy joins them with notes 
from Mr. Dorrit and Tip, requesting loans. — XXIII. Clennam becomes a partner in Mr. 
Doyce's business; Flora and "Mr. F.'s Aunt" visit him in his counting-room; they are 
followed by Mr. Casbyand Pancks; Flora takes an interest in Little Dorrit; "Mr. F.'s 
Aunt " makes a demonstration, and is taken out by Mr. Pancks; Mr. Pancks shows an ab- 
sorbing interest in the Dorrit family, and questions Arthur about them ; Mr. Pancks goes 
through Bleeding Heart Yard collecting rents, but does not satisfy his proprietor. — XXIV. 
Little Dorrit goes to work for Flora ; Flora gi vcs her the history of her old attachment to 
Arthur ; Mr. Pancks surprises Little Dorrit by his skill in fortune-telling ; Amy tells Maggy 
the story of the beautiful princess, and the little woman who had a secret. — XXV. Mr. 
Pancks, Mr. Rugg, and j^oung John Chivery dine together, and appear to be engaged in a 
conspiracy which interests Little Dorrit ; Mr. Pancks calls upon Cavalletto, and Mrs. Plor- 
nish acts as interpreter. — XXVI. Doyce and Clennam discuss the intimacy of Henry Gowan 
at the cottage; Mr. Gowan expresses his opinion of the world ; Arthur visits, at her son's 
request, Mrs. Gowan at Hampton Court; she questions him about the Meagleses, and he 
assures her that they are not pleased by her son's attentions to Pet, and have hoped to 
break oflf an attachment. — XXVII. Mr. Meagles informs Clennam of Tattycoram's sudden 
disappearance ; their thoughts both turn to Miss Wade as probably the cause ; they seek 
Miss Wade, and find Tattycoram with her, but cannot induce her to retui-n home with 
Mr. Meagles. — XXVIII. Mr. Clennam encounters Minnie alone, and, as they walk home 
through the avenue, he anticipates her confidence, invokes a blessing on her marriage with 
Gowan, and promises to be a friend to her father when she is away ; Mr. Meagles delicately 
intimates to Ai-thur his suspicion of the hopes he once cherished in regard to Pet. — XXIX. 
Mr. Pancks calling at Mrs. Clennam's, she understands that it is to see Little Dorrit, who 
is there ; Mrs. Clennam is unusually gentle towards Amy ; Affery, shut out in the street, is 
accosted by a traveller, who climbs into the window, and opens the door for her. — XXX. 
The stranger announces himself to Jeremiah as Blandois, and produces a letter of intro- 
duction to Clennam & Co. ; Mr. Blandois, having dined at a neighboring tavern, returns to 
paj' his respects to Mrs. Clennam ; the visitor shows particular interest in Mrs. Clennam'a 
watch, with its peculiar monogram ; at his request he is shown through the old house ; he 
appears delighted with the house, and takes singular freedoms with Jeremiah. —XXXI. 
Mr. John Edward Nandy is introduced ; Little Dorrit takes him with her to the Marshalsea, 
to the indignation of Miss Fanny and the grief of her father ; the father becomes recon- 
ciled, and be'itows his patronage upon Nandy ; Tip and Miss Fanny show " a proper spirit " 
in their conduct towards Arthur. — XXXII. Arthur secures an interview alone with Little 
Dorrit, and confides to her the story of the love he had overcome ; he urges her to intrust 
to him any secret grief or care she may have ; Mr. Pancks appears in a state of great ex- 
citement, which half frightens Amy, but which Clennam understands ; Mr. Pancks imparts 
his discovery to Clennam. — XXXIII. Mrs. Merdle advises Mrs. Gowan on the require- 
in ants of society in regard to her son's marriage; Mrs. Merdle complains to her husband 
ibat he carries his business too much with him. — XXXiV. Mr. Henry Gowan explains tt 



nettle 2!9orrft, 397 

Clennam the disappointment he has suflfered; marriage of Henry Gowan and Minnia 
Meagles, attended by all the Barnacles. — XXXV. Mr. Dorrit proves heir-at-law to a great 
estate, Mr. i'ancks having traced out the claim ; Pancks narrates all the particulars to 
Arthur, who carries the news immediately to Little Dorrit; her first thought is of her 
father, and they go to tell him ; emotion with which Mr. Dorrit receives the news of his 
good fortune. — XXXVI. Mr. Dorrit and family prepare for leaving the prison, and Mr. 
Dorrit gives an entertainment to the collegians ; at the moment of departure, the family is 
disgraced by Amy, who has fainted in her shabby dress, and is carried to the carriage in 
tJiat condition by Arthur. 

BOOK II. — Chapter I. The Dorrit party, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Gowan, and Blandois 
meet at the Convent of the Great St. Bernard; Mrs. Gowan, having received an injury on 
the road, faints away, and her husband carries her to her room ; Amy seeks Minnie Gowan 
in her room, and gives her a letter from Clennam ; leaving the room, Amy encounters 
Blandois in the dark gallery ; Blandois registers his name under the others in the Travel- 
lers' Book. — II. Who Mrs. General was, and how Mr. Dorrit engaged her to " form the 
minds "of his daughters. — III. Mr. Dorrit and Fanny are indignant at Amy for seeking 
the acquaintance of a friend of Clennam; the Dorrit party leave the convent, watched in 
their descent by Blandois ; at Martigny, Mr. Dorrit has an altercation with the innkeeper, 
who has allowed one of the rooms engaged for him to be used by other travellers ; the 
travellers prove to be Mrs. Merdle and Mr. Sparkler, and the lady appeases Mr. Dorrit by 
her apology ; the party moves on to Venice. — IV. Amy writes to Clennam, and relates 
her interview with Minnie Gowan. — V. Mr. Dorrit takes the liberty to suggest to Mrs. 
General that there is something wrong in Amy ; Mr. Dorrit begs Amy to accommodate 
herself better to the circumstances of her station ; he speaks of the old days in the Mar- 
shalsea, and accuses her of always recalling them by her manner ; the Gowans being in 
Venice, Mr. Dorrit, after consulting Mrs. General, consents to recognize their acquaint- 
ance; Mr. Frederick is moved to protest against the way in which Amy is treated. —VI. 
Mr. Gowan decides to encourage the acquaintance of Blandois, who has accompanied them 
to Venice ; Fanny and Amy call upon the Gowans ; in Gowan's studio, Blandois is attacked 
by Gowan's dog ; returning home, they are attended by Mr. Sparkler, and Fanny tells Amy 
how she means to receive his attentions; Mr. Dorrit decides to bestow his patronage upon 
Henry Gowan, and engages him to paint his picture; Gowan loses his dog. — Vlt. Fanny 
Buspects Mrs. General of matrimonial designs on Mr. Dorrit; Gowan accepts, in his depre- 
ciating way, Mr. Dorrit's commission ; Blandois prevents the confidence between Amy and 
Mrs. Gowan ; the family goes to Rome, and Mrs. Merdle renews the acquaintance " begnn 
at Martigny." — Vm. Doyce explains to Clennam the invention he has cherished for 
years, and Arthur determines to urge its claims at the Circumlocution Office ; the dowager 
Mrs. Gowan calls upon the Meagleses, and reminds them, that, considering the sacrifice her 
son has made, " it never does" for people of such different antecedents to try to get on 
together. — IX. Mr. Meagles informs Arthur of his intention to go abroad and see Pet, and 
Arthur urges him to do so ; Mrs. Tickit sees Tattycoram ; soon after, Arthur himself sees 
her in company with Miss Wade and Blandois ; Blandois leaves them, and Arthur sees 
them enter Mr. Casby's house, but on gaining admission to the house, and inquiring for 
them, Casby gives him vague answers. — X. Arthur, on the way to see his mother, is 
jostled in the street by Blandois, and is greatly astonished, on following him, to find him 
Becking admittance to Mrs. Clennam's house; Arthur objects to his presence there, but 
Mrs. Clennam informs him that Blandois has business with them; Blandois hints darkly 
at the feelings existing between Clennam & Co. — XI. Little Dorrit writes again to Arthur, 
with further intelligence of the Gowans and of her own family. — XII. A dinner is given 
at Mr. Merdle's, attended by Bar, Bishop, <fcc., and the Barnacles, the object being to 
secure a meeting for five minutes between Mr. Merdle and Lord Decimus, the consequence 
of which is the appointment of Edward Sparkler, Esquire, as one of the lords of the Cir- 
cumlocution OflSce. — XIII. Everybody talks of Mr. Merdle and of his enterprises ; Mr. 
Pancks calls at Mr. Plornish's shop after a trying day ; singular performances of Cavalletto, 
consequent on his seeing Rigaud, and trying to avoid him ; Clennam calls at the Plornishes' 
m his return home ; Pancks accompanies Clennam home, and argues in favor of the Merdle 
enterprises, in which he has himself invested. — XIV. How the news of Mr. Sparkler's 
appointment was received by his friends in Italy ; Fanny " takes Amy's advice " as to the 
31 



398 8ri)e ©fc&ens Bictionarg. 



■ 



;ii(l of her intercourse with Mr. Sparkler, and decides, for the sake of securing a more 
defined position, and of asserting herself against his mother, that she will encourage him ; 
Fanny, attended by Mr. Sparkler, informs Amy of their engagement. — XV. Mr. Dorrit 
finds Mrs. Merdle charmed with Mr. Sparkler's choice; Fanny expresses herself tired of 
Mrs. General; Mr. Dorrit remonstrates, and insists upon the engagement being announced 
to her; Fanny " looks to Amy " for advice in regard to the time of her marriage, and de- 
cides that it shall be soon ; Fanny is married, and leaves for England ; Mr. Dorrit joins her 
at Florence, and Amy and Mrs. General are left at Rome. — XVI. Mrs. Sparkler is estal)- 
lished in the rooms of Mrs. IVlerdle; Mr. Merdle calls upon Mr. Dorrit at his hotel, and 
offers to assist Mr. Dorrit in investing his money. — XVII. Mrs. Finching calls upon Mr. 
Dorrit, and informs him of the disappearance of Blandois, who has never been set^n since 
be entered the house of Mrs. Clennani, and asks him to look out for him on his return to 
Italy ; Mr. Dorrit goes to Mrs. Clennam's to ask about Blandois ; Mrs. Aflfery is again 
frightened by the noises. — XVIII. Young John Chivery calls to pay.^is respects to Mr. 
Dorrit, much to that gentleman's indignation; passing through Paris, Mr. Dorrit selects 
two little gifts for a lady. — XIX. Mr. Dorrit arrives at Rome late in the evening, and finds 
his brother and Amy alone; he thinks his brother greatly broken; they receive an invita- 
tion to Mrs. Merdle's farewell assembly ; Mr. Dorrit begins an important conversation with 
Mrs. General, the conclusion of which, at her request, he postpones; at Mrs. Merdle's 
party, Mr. Dorrit's mind wanders ; he fancies himself again the Father of the Marshalsea, 
and welcomes the company to that institution; his brother and Amy get him home, and, 
after ten days of wandering, Mr. Dorrit dies ; Mr. Frederick Dorrit dies by the bedside of 
his dead brother. —XX. Arthur Clennam gains aii interview with Miss Wade at her lodg- 
ings in Calais ; he seeks news of Blandois, but she will give him none ; her hatred of the 
Gowans; her influence over Tattycoram. — XXI. Miss Wade's history, as written out by 
herself for Mr. Clennam's perusal ; Doyce receives an appointment as engineer from a 
foreign power. — XXII. Before leaving England, Clennam gives him a statement of their 
business, and Doyce cautions him against speculating; Doj'ce's departure; Clennam, 
unconsciously repeating the tune he had heard Blandois sing, is surprised to hear Cavalletto 
continue it; Cavalletto tells Arthur where he knew Eigaud, and who he was, and Arthur 
despatches him in search of the missing man. — XXIII. Arthur informs his mother what 
he has heard regarding Blandois; Arthur secures an opportunity of speaking privately to 
Affery, who tells him the house is full of mysteries, but will say no more until he bids her 
" tell her dreams " before his mother and Jeremiah. —XXIV. Mrs. Sparkler passes a long 
day with her husband; they receive a call from Mr. Merdle; who, on leaving, borrows 
Fanny's penknife. — XXV. Mr. Merdle is found dead in a bath, having committed suicide 
with Fanny's knife; the chief butler gives notice; Mr. Merdle's "complaint" proves to 
be forgery and robbery. — XXVI. Clennam finds his firm ruined by the failure of Merdle's 
Bank, resigns every thing into the hands of their creditors, and exonerates Doyce from 
blame; Arthur is arrested, and taken to the Marshalsea; young John Chivery conducts 
him into the old room, but declines to shake hands with him. — XXVII. Young John in- 
vites Arthur to take tea with him, and opens his eyes in regard to Little Dorrit's feelings 
for him; young John composes his final epitaph. — XXVIII. Ferdinand Barnacle calls 
upon Arthur in prison; Rugg calls, but is unable to move Arthur's decision to remain 
where he is ; Rigaud enters Arthur's room, followed by Cavalletto and Pancks ; Cavalletto 
relates how he found him ; Rigaud gives his reasons for disappearing , he sends a note to 
Mrs. Clennam, naming a time for the adjustment of their business ; Flintwinch comes in 
person to answer the note. — XXIX. Arthur's health fails in the prison; Little Dorrit 
comes to him, having just returned to London, and heard of his misfortunes; she offers 
him all her wealth to free him from embarrassment, but he declines, and requests her to 
avoid him ; j'oung John brings Little Dorrit's parting-message to Arthur. — XXX. Rigaud, 
closely followed by Cavalletto and Pancks, keeps his appointment with Clennam <fe Co. ; 
Pancks calls upon Afifer^' in Arthur's name to " tell her dreams ; " partly by Rigaud's relat- 
ing what he knows, and partly through Affery 's " dreams," it is told that Mrs. Clennam 
is not Arthur's mother; that he is her husband's child by a woman whom he loved, but 
was forced by his uncle to give up; that Mrs. Clennam forced her husband to give up 
to her the object of his love, whom she also forced to relinquish her child, to be reared as 
Hid believed to be, Mrs. Clennam's own son ; that Mrs. Clennam had suppressed a codicL 



Hfttle Botrtt. 399 

to Gilbert Clennam's will, by which Little Dorrit would have received two thousand 
guineas ; that Jeremiah had intrusted the papers establishing these facts to his brother's 
keeping, and that they had fallen into Rigaud's hands ; Rigand threatens, if his terms for 
silence are not accepted, to put copies of these papers in Arthur's hands ; Mrs. Clennam 
starts up regardless of her paralytic state, and rushes out of the house, followed by Affery 
and Jeremiah. — XXXI. Mrs. Clennam's interview with Little Dorrit in the prison; fall 
of the old house, burying Blandois in its ruins. — XXXII. Mr. Pancks exposes his patron to 
the Bleeding Hearts. — XXXIII. Mr. Meagles sets himself to hunting up the box contain- 
ing the papers Blgaud had stolen; his interview with Miss Wade, who denies all knowl- 
edge of them; he returns to England unsuccessful, but is followed by Tattycoram, who 
brings the missing box, and begs to be taken back ; Mr. Meagles starts off again in search 
of Doyce. — XXXIV. Little Dorrit informs Arthur that her father's property was all lost 
by Mr. Merdle's failure, and he now will share her fortune with her; Flora's last act of 
friendship, and the crowning defiance of Mr. F.'s Aunt; Doyce returns with Mr. Meagles, 
exonerates Arthur, and offers to renew the partnership ; Little Dorrit gives Arthur a 
fi>lded paper to bam ; Arthur and Little Dorrit are married. 



% S^alc of ®ujo €xtu3. 



Shortly before discontinuance of " Household Words " (May 28, 1859), Mr. 
Dickens began the publication of a new periodical, entitled "All the Year 
Round ; " and in the first number (dated April 30) appeared the first portion of 
"A Tale of Two Cities." It was concluded in No. 31, for November 26, 1859. 
It was also issued in eight monthly parts, with two illustrations in each, by 
Hablot K. Browne. On its completion, it was published as an independent 
volume by Chapman and Hall, and was inscribed to Lord John Russell, 
*'in remembrance of many public services and private kindnesses." 

Of this story it has been justly said, that it is " so noble in its spirit, so grand 
and graphic in its style, and filled with a pathos so profound and simple, that it 
deserves and will surely take a place among the great serious works of imagina- 
tion." 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 



Barsad, John. See Pross, Solomon. 

Carton, Sydney. A dissipated, reckless drudge for Mr. Stryver ; 
a man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their 
directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happi- 
ness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it 
eat him away. (Bk. I, ch. ii-vi, xi, xiii, xx, xxi ; Bk. Ill, ch. viii, 
ix, xi, xii, xiii, xv.) 

He had that rather wild, strained, seared marking about the eyes, which 
may be observed in all free livers of his class, from the portrait of Jeffries 
downward, and which can be traced, under various disguises of art, through 
the portraits of every drinking age. 

It had once been noted at the bar, that while Mr. Stryver was a glib man, 
and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that faculty of extract* 
iOO 



^ STale of SEtoo ©ities. 401 

mg the essence from a heap of statements, which is among, the most striking 
and necessary of the advocate's accomplishments. But a remarkable improve- 
ment came upon him as to this. The more business he got the greater h.s 
Tower seemed'to grow of getting at its pith and -"^ ' -^' ^^^^T^^ ^J 
night he sat carousing with Sydney Carton, he always had his points at his 

'''^^Z^:::Zr.os. unpromising of men, was Stryver's great ally 
What the' two drank together between Hilary Term and Michaelmas nught ha.e 
floated a kin-'s ship. Stryver never had a case in hand anywhere, but Carton 
^s here,^v^th his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling of the court. They 
went the same circuit, and even there they prolonged then- usual or^^- '-^J^^ 
the night, and Carton was rumored to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily 
and unsteadily to his lodgings like a dissipated cat. At last it began to get about 
among such as were interested in the matter, that, although Sydney Carton 
w^uM never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered suit 
and service to Stryver in that humble capacity. 

Charles Darnay having been on trial for his life on a charge of 
treason, and Miss Lucie Manette having been one of the witnesses 
in the case, Mr. Stryver, who has been the prisoner's counsel, jokes 
Carton about his manifest interest in the young lady. And although 
Carton affects to be utterly indifferent to her, and speaks almost con- 
temptuously of her, he is, in fact, fascinated by her beauty, and Mis 
more and more deeply in love with her as he comes to know more ol 
her goodness and purity. Feeling that he is quite unworthy of her, 
and knowing that she is betrothed to Darnay, he seeks her for the 
double purpose of declaring his love, and bidding her farewell for 

ever. 

If Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in the house 
of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole year, and had 
always been the same moody and morose lounger there. When he cared to talk, 
he talked well; but the cloud of caring for nothing, which overshadowed him 
with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light within him. . . .^ 

On a day in August, . . . Sydney's feet . . . became animated by an intention, 
and. in the working-out of that intention, they took him to the doctor's door 

He was shown up stairs, and found Lucie at her work alone. She had never 
been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little embarrass- 
ment as he seated himself near her table. But, looking up at his face m the inter- 
?hange of the first few commonplaces, she observed a change in it. 

" I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton." 

" No. But the life I lead. Miss Manette, is not conducive to health. What is 
to be expected of or by such profligates ? » 

" Is it not - forgive me ; I have begun the question on my lips - a pity to live 

no better life?" 

" God knows it is a shame I " 

" Then why not change it ? " -u * *^ ^ 

Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that there 
TTore tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he answered, - 

'• It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, 
and be worse." 



402 STIjc Bfcltcns Bfctfonacj. 



■ 



He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. The 
table trembled in the silence that followed. 

She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to he 
so without looking at her, and said, — 

*' Pray, forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the knowledge of what 
I want to say to you. Will you hear me ? " 

" If it will do you any good. Mr. Carton, if it would make you happier, it 
would make me very glad." 

" God bless you for your sweet compassion I " 

He unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily. 

" Don't be afraid to hear me. Don't shrink from any thing I say. I am like 
one who died young. All my life might have been." 

" No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be ; I am sure 
that you might be much, much worthier of yourself." 

"Say of you. Miss Manette; and although I know better — although in the 
mystery of my own wretched heart, I know better — I shall never forget it." 

She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed despair of 
himself, which made the interview unlike any other that could have been holden. 

'' If it had been possible. Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love 
of the man you see before you — self-flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature 
of misuse as you know him to be — he would have been conscious this day and 
hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to 
sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. I know 
very well that you can have no tenderness forme; I ask for none; I am even 
thankful that it can not be." 

" Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton ? Can I not recall you — forgive 
me again I — to a better course ? Can I in no way repay your confidence ? I know 
this is a confidence," she modestly said after a little hesitation, and in earnest 
tears. '-I know you would say this to no one else. Can I turn it to no good 
account for yourself, Mr. Carton?" 

He shook his head. 

" To none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through a very 
little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to know that you have 
been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not been so degraded, 
but that the sight of you with your father, and of this home (made such a home by 
you), has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me. Since I knew yon 
I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, 
ind have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought 
ivere silent forever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, 
(Shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, 
all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down ; but 
I wish you to know that you inspired it." 

" Will nothing of it remain ? O Mr. Carton I think again, try again." 

*' No, Miss Manette : all through it I have known myself to be quite undeserv- 
ing. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you 
to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, 
into fire, — a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening noth- 
ing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away. . . . Let me carry 
through the rest of my misdirected life the remembrance that I opened ray heart 
to you last of all the world; and that there was something left in me at this time 
which you could deplore and pity." 

'' Which I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, with all 
wy heart, was capable of better things, Mr. Carton." 



a Kale ot STtoo ©ftfes. 403 

« Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved myself, and 1 
know better. I distress you : I draw fast to an end. Will you let me believe, 
when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed in your pure 
and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone, and will be shared by no 
one ? » 

" If that will be a consolation to you, yes." 

'• Not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you ? " 

<' Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, " the secret is yours, not 
mine ; and I promise to respect it." 

" Thank you 1 And again, God bless you 1 " 

He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door. . . . 

" My last supplication of all is this ; and with it I will relieve you of a visitor 
with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between whom and you 
there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I know ; but it rises out of my 
soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I would do any thing. If my career were 
of that better kind that there was an opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I 
would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in 
your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The 
time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed 
about you, — ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home 
you so adorn, — the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss 
Manette I when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when 
you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think, now and 
then, that there is a man who would give his life to keep a life you love beside 
you." 

The words are prophetic. Her husband, Darnay, having been 
summoned to Paris, and, on his arrival, arrested, thrown into 
prison, and condemned to death, is rescued by Carton, who greatly 
resembles him, and who takes his place, and dies in his stead, hav- 
ing faithfully promised one of the officers of the prison that he will 
protect him from punishment for his complicity in Darnay's escape 
by submitting to be guillotined without revealing the fraud. Dar- 
nay (called in Paris Evremonde) is drugged, and rendered insen- 
sible, as he cannot otherwise be made a party to the escape ; and he 
is then removed, dressed in Carton's clothes, to a carriage, the sus- 
picions of the guard having been lulled by telling them that the 
prisoner's visitor has been overcome by parting from his friend. 

The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of listening 
to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote suspicion or alarm. 
There was none. . . . Breathing more freely in a little while, he sat down at the 
table, and listened again until the clocks struck two. 

Sounds that he was not afraid of, for he divined their meaning, then began to be 
audible. Several doors were opened in succession, and finally his own. A jailer, 
«vith a list in his hand, looked in, merely saying, " Follow me, Evrdmonde I " And 
he followed into a large, dark room at a distance. It was a dark winter day, and 
what with the shadows within, and what with the shadows without, he could but 
dimly discern the others who were brought there to have their arms bound. Some 
T^ere standing; some seated. Some were lamenting, and in restless motion; but 



404 Srtje Hfcltens Bfctfonarj. 

these were few. The great majority were silent and still, looking fixedly at tha 
ground. 

Along the Paris streets the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrils 
carry the day's wine to La Guillotine. . . . 

As the sombre wheels ... go round, they seem to plough up a long crooked fur- 
row among the populace in the streets. Ridges of faces are thrown to this side 
and to that, and the ploughs go steadily onward. So used are the regular inhab- 
itants of the houses to the spectacle, that, in many windows, there are no people, 
and in some the occupation of the hands is not so much as suspended while the 
ej'es survey the faces in the tumbrils. . . . 

Of the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all things on their 
last roadside, with an impassive stare; others with a lingering interest in the 
ways of life and men. Some, seated with drooping heads, are sunk in silent de- 
spair ; again, there are some so heedful of their looks, that they cast upon the mul- 
titude such glances as they have seen In theatres and in pictures. Several close 
their eyes, and think, or try to get their straying thoughts together. Only one, 
and he a miserable creature of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by 
horror, that he sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole number appeals 
by look or gesture to the pity of the people. 

There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils; and 
faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some question. It 
would seem to be always the same question ; for it is always followed by a press 
of people toward the third cart. The horsemen abreast of that cart frequently 
point out one man in it with their swords. The leading curiosity is to know which 
is he : he stands at the back of the tumbril with his head bent down ... . He has 
no curiosity or care for the scene about him ... . Here and there in the long 
street of St. Honor^, cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is 
only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his face. He 
cannot easily touch his face, his arms being bound. 

On the steps of a church, awaiting the coming-up of the tumbrils, stands the 
spy and prison-sheep [Solomon Pross] . He looks into the first of them : not there. 
He looks into the second : not there. He already asks himself, *' Has he sacrificed 
me ? " when his face clears as he looks into the third. 

" Which is Evr^monde ? " says a man behind him. 

" That. At the back there," 

" "With his hand in the girl's ? " 

" Yes." 

The man cries, " Down, Evr^monde I To the guillotine all aristocrats I Down, 
Evr^monde I " 

" Hush, hush I " the spy entreats him timidly. 

" And why not, citizen ? " 

" He is going to pay the forfeit : it will be paid in five minutes more. Let him 
be at peace." 

But the man continuing to exclaim, " Down, Evr6monde I " the face of Evr6- 
monde is for a moment turned towards him. Evr^monde then sees the spy, and 
looks attentively at him, and goes his way. . . . 

The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing-on 
of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd so that it swells forward in amass, 
like one great heave of water, all flashes away. . . . 

They said of him about the city, that night, that it was the peacefullest man's 
face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic. 




SYDNEY (AKroN AND THE SEMPSTRESS. 



^ STale of STtoo €ftfes. 405 

" Its portrayal of the noble-natured castaway, Sydney Carton, makes it [A Talc of 
Two Cities] almost a peerless book in modern literature, and gives it a place among the 
highest examples of all literary art. ' Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay 
down his life for his friend.' And yet Sydney Carton did more ; for he gave his life, not 
for hia friend, but to secure the woman he fondly loved a happy life with another man. 
. . . The conception of this story and of this character is sublime, and shows in its author 
an ideal of magnanimity and of cliarity unsurpassed in the history of all literature 
One slight, tender touch of the artist's hand is too exquisite to be passed by, . . . 
The man and the family whose happiness Sydney Carton dies to save are in hot flight 
from Paris as he goes to the guillotine. How was so noble a death to be worthily por- 
trayed ? The author effects this by iiitroducing a poor little sweetnatured, shrinking, 
but brave-hearted milliuer-girl, who was to be put to death, — she could not guess why, 
as many could not, then, who suffered death as she did. She was with Evr^monde iu 
the prison of La Force, and, when they are ordered out to take their places in the 
tumbrils, she speaks to the supposed Evr6monde, who is going to deatli with her. 
Looking closely, she sees tliat it is not Evr^monde, but a man so like him, that one 
might be taken for the other. She divines his purpose, and keeps his secret, and begs 
that she may hold his ' brave hand ' to the last. His heart goes out to her in that supreme 
moment of their lives : he sustains and comforts her ; and at last she asks, ' Am I to 
kiss you now ? Is the moment come ? ' — ' Yes.' She kisses his lips, he kisses hers, and 
she mounts the scaffold. He follows her, murmuring to himself, ' I am the Resurrec- 
tion and the Life.' The end comes, and the castaway dies, thinking, ' It is a fax-, far 
better thing that I do than I have ever done : it is a far, far better rest that I go to than 
I have ever known.' Beyond that, the sublimity of simple self-sacrifice, the enthusiasm 
of humanity, the purity of pathos, can never go. In all literature, in all history, there 
is not a grander, lovelier figure, than the self-wrecked, self-devoted Sydney Carton." — 
KiCHAED Grant White. 

Cly, Roger. An Old Bailey spy, partner of Solomon Pross, and 
formerly servant to Charles Darnay. (Bk. II, ch. iii, xlv ; Bk. Ill, 
eh. viii, xv.) 

Cruncher, Jerry. An odd-job man at Tellson's Bank, in London, 
who is also a resurrection-man. His wife, a pious woman, is greatly 
distressed by her knowledge of the horrible nature of his nightly 
occupation ; and, as her remonstrances prove to be unavailing, she 
resorts to prayers and supplications to Heaven to aid her in the 
reformation of her husband. This is very distasteful to Mr. Crun- 
cher, — so much so, indeed, that he sometimes resorts to violence to 
prevent it. 

Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchwork counterpane, like a harlequin at 
home. At first he slept heavily, but by degrees began to roll and surge in bed, 
until he rose above the surface, with his spiky hair looking as if it must tear the 
sheets to ribbons. At which juncture, he exclaimed in a voice of dire exaspera- 
tion, — 

" Bust me, if she ain't at it agin I " 

A woman of orderly and industrious appearance rose from her knees in a 
corner, with sufficient haste and trepidation to show that she was the person re- 
ferred to. 

•' What I " said Mr. Cruncher, looking out of bed for a boot. " You 're at it 
agin ; are you ? " 

After hailing the morn with this second salutation, he threw a boot at the 



406 ^'^^ Bfcftens llfctfonars. 

woman as a third. It was a very muddy boot, and may introduce the odd circum- 
stance connected with Mr. Cruncher's domestic economy, that, whereas he often 
came home after banking-hours with clean boots, he often got up next morning to 
find the same bootg>covered with clay. 

*' What," said Mr. Cruncher, varying his apostrophe after missing his mark, — 
" what are you up to, aggerawayter ? " 

" I was only saying my prayers." 

" Saying your prayers 1 You 're a nice woman I What do you mean by flopping 
yourself down, and praying agin me? " 

" I was not praying against you : I was praying for you." 

"You were n't; and, if you were, I won't betook the liberty with. Herei 
your mother 's a nice woman, young Jerry, going a-praying agin your father's 
prosperity. You 've got a dutiful mother; you have, my son. You 've got a 
religious mother; you have, my bjy: going and flopping herself down, and pray- 
ing that the bread-and-butter may be snatched out of the mouth of her only 
child ! " 

Master Cruncher (who was in his shirt) took this very ill, and, turning to his 
mother, strongly deprecated any praying away of his personal board. 

" And what do you suppose, you conceited female," said Mr. Cruncher with 
unconscious inconsistency, ■•' that the worth of your prayers may be ? Name the 
price that you put your prayers at." 

" They only come from the heart, Jerry. They are worth no more than that." 

" Worth no more than that," repeated Mr. Cruncher : ''they ain't worth much, 
then. Whether or no, I won't be prayed agin, I tell you. I can't aflbrd it. I'm not 
a-going to be made unlucky by your sneaking. If you must go flopping yourself 
down, flopinfavorof your husband and child, and not in opposition to 'em. Jfl had 
had any but a unnat'ral wife, and this poor boy had had any but a unnat'ral mother, 
I might have made some money last week, instead of being counterprayed and 
countermined, and religiously circumwented into the worst of luck. Bu-u-ust me I " 
said Mr. Cruncher, who all this time had been putting on his clothes, " if I ain't, 
what with piety and one blowed thing arid another, been choused this last 
week into as bad luck as ever a poor devil of a honest tradesman met with! 
Young Jerry, dress yourself, my boy, and, while I clean my boots, keep a eye 
upon your mother now and then, and, if you see any signs of more flopping, 
give me a call. For I tell you," here he addressed his wife once more, "I 
won't be gone agin in this manner. I am as rickety as a hackney-coach ; I 'm 
as sleepy as laudanum; my lines is strained to that degree that I should n't 
know, if it was n't for the pain in 'em, which was me, and which somebody 
else : yet I 'm none the better for it in pocket; and it 's my suspicion that you 've 
been at it from morning to night to prevent me from being the better for it in 
pocket; and I won't put up with it, aggerawayter; and what do you say now?" 
. . . Mr. Cruncher betook himself to his boot-cleaning and his general prepa- 
rations for business. In the mean time, his son . . . kept the required watch 
upon his mother. He greatly disturbed that poor woman, at intervals, by dart- 
ing out of his sleeping-closet, where he made his toilet, with a suppressed cry 
of, "You are going to flop, mother I — Halloo, father I" and, after raising this 
fictitious alarm, darting in again with an undutiful grin. 

Mr. Cruncher's temper was not at all improved when he came to his break- 
fast. He resented Mrs. Cruncher's saying grace with particular animosity. 

" Now, aggerawayter, what are you up to ? At it agin ? " 

His wife explained that she had merely '' asked a blessing." 

"Don't do it I" said Mr. Cruncher, looking about as if he rather expected 
to see the loaf disappear under the efficacy of his wife's petitions. " I ain't a- 



^ CTale of Stoo €itics. 407 

going to be blest out of house and honae. I won't have my wittles blest off 
my table. Keep still I " 

Participating in the horrors of the outbreak in Paris, whither he 
has gone in company with Mr. Long, Jerry is so impressed with 
the uncertainty of human life, that he resolves to reform ; and he 
communicates his resolution to Miss Pross in this wise : — 

" Would you do me the favor, miss, to take notice o' two promises and wows 
wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis ?" 

" Oh, for gracious sake I " cried Miss Pross, still wildly crying, " record them 
at once, and get them out of the way, like an excellent man." 

'' First," said Mr. Cruncher, who was all in a tremble, and who spoke with 
an ashy and solemn visage, " them poor things well out o' this, never no more 
will I do it ; never no more I " 

'' I am quite sure, Mr. Cruncher," returned Miss Pross, " that you never will 
do it again, whatever it is ; and I beg you not to think it necessary to mention 
more particularly what it is." 

" No, miss," returned Jerry : " it shall not be named to you. Second, them 
poor things well out o' this, and never no more will I interfere with Mrs. 
Cruncher's flopping ; never no more I " 

'' Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be," said Miss Pross, striv- 
ing to dry her eyes, and compose herself, " I have no doubt it is best that Mrs. 
Cruncher should have it entirely under her own superintendence. Oh I my poor 
darlings I " 

"I go so far as to say,miss,morehover,"proceeded Mr. Cruncher, with a most 
alarming tendency to hold forth as from a pulpit, — '' and let my words be took 
down, and took to Mrs. Cruncher through yourself, — that wot my opinions re- 
spectin' flopping has undergone a change, and that wot I only hope with all my 
heart as Mrs. ('rancher may be a-flopping at the present time." 

'' There, there, there ! I hope she is, my dear man," cried the distracted Miss 
Pross; "and I hope she finds it answering her expectations." 

(Bk. I, ch. ii, iii ; Bk. II, ch. i-iii, vi, xiv, xxiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. vii- 
ix, xiv.) 
Cruncher, Young Jerry. His son and assistant. (Bk. II, ch. 
i, ii, xiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. ix.) 

Young Jerry, while yet a mere boy, and not in the secrt of his 
father's night-excursions, masters the name of the business, and 
forms an idea of its nature. 

" Father," said Young Jerry as they walked along, taking care to keep at 
arm's-length, and to have the stool well between them, " what's a resurrection- 
man?" 

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he answered, "How 
should I know ? " 

" I thought you knowed every thing, father," said the artless boy. 

" Hem I Well," returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, . . . *' he 's a trades- 
man." 

" What 's his goods, father ? " asked the brisk Young Jerry. 

" His goods," said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, " is a 
branch of scientific goods." 



408 STlJe 33icltens lafctionarg. 

" Persons' bodies ; ain't it, father ? " asked the lively boy. 

" I believe it is somethink of that sort," said Mr. Cruncher. 

**0 father! I should so like to be a resurrection-man when I 'm. quite 
growed up." 

Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a grave and moral way. 
" It depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Be careful to dewelop your 
talents, and never to say no more than you can help to nobody, and there 's no 
telling at the present time what you may come to be fit for." As Young Jerry, 
thus encouraged, went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the 
shadow of the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself, "Jerry, you honest trades- 
man, there 's hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense 
to you for his mother." 

Cruncher, Mrs. Wife of Jerry Crunclier ; called by him " Ag- 
gerawayter." (Bk. II, ch. i, ii, xiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. ix, xiv). See 
Cruncher, Jerry. 

Darnay, Charles. See St. Evremonde, Charles. 

Darnay, Mrs. Lucie. See Manette, Lucie. 

Defarge, Madame Therese. Wife of Monsieur Defarge, and 
leader of the Saint Antoine rabble of women in the Revolution. She 
is a stout woman, with a watchful eye that seldom seems to look at 
any thing, a steady face, strong features, and great composure of 
manner. She is killed in an encounter with Miss Manette's maid, 
Miss Pross, who refuses to admit her into a room in which her mis- 
tress is supposed to be. (Bk. I, ch. v, vi ; Bk. II, ch. vii, xv, xvi, 
xxi, xxii ; Bk. Ill, ch. iii, v, vi, viii-x, xii, xiv, xv.) 

Of a strong and fearless character, of shrewd sense and readiness, of great 
determination, of that kind of beauty which not only seems to impart to its 
possessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into others an instinctive recog- 
nition of those qualities, the troubled time would have heaved her up under 
any circumstances; but, imbued from her childhood with a brooding sense 
of wrong and an inveterate hatred of a class, opportunity had developed her 
into a tigress. She was absolutely without pity. If she had ever had the 
virtue in her, it had quite gone out of her. 

Defarge, Monsieur Ernest. Keeper of a wine-shop in the 
suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, and ringleader of the revolutionists 
in that quarter of the city. At his house. Doctor Manette is tempo- 
rarily placed after being released from the Bastille ; and it is he 
who finds the record which the old man had waitten and secreted in 
the prison, and who produces it in court against Darnay. (Bk. I, ch. 
V, vi ; Bk. II, ch. vii, xv, xvi, xxi, xxii ; Bk. Ill, ch. i, iii, vi, ix, x, 
xii, xiv, XV.) 

This wine-shop-keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man of thirty, and 
he should have been of a hot temperament ; for, although it was a bitter day, he 
wore no coat, but carried one slung over his shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were 
rolled up, too, and his brown arms were bare to the elbows. Neither did he 



^ STale of CltDo €itfes. 409 

wear any thing more on his head than his own crisply-curling, short dark hair. 
He was a dark man altogether, with good eyes, and a good bold breadth between 
them; good-humored-looking on the whole, but implacable-looking too; evi- 
dently a man of a strong resolution and a set purpose, — a man not desirable to be 
met rushing down a narrow pass with a gulf on either side; for nothing would 
turn the man. 

Evremonde, Charles. See St. Evremonde, Charles. 

G-abelle, Monsieur Theophile. A postmaster, and some other 
taxing functionary united. (Bk. II, eh. viii, ix, xxiii, xxiv ; Bk. 
Ill, ch. i, vi.) 

Gaspard. Assassin of the Marquis St. Evremonde. (Bk. I, ch. v; 
Bk. II, ch. vii, xv, xvi.) 

Jacques One. A prominent assistant of Defarge in the French 
Revolution. (Bk. I, ch. v ; Bk. II, ch. xv, xxi, xxiii.) 

Jacques Two. Another revolutionist, who is also an assistant 
of Defarge. (Bk. I, ch. v ; Bk. II, ch. xv, xxi, xxiii.) 

Jacques Three. An associate of Defarge, and a member of the 
revolutionary jury ; a cannibal-looking, bloody-minded man. (Bk. 
I, ch. V ; Bk. II, ch. xv, xxi-xxlii ; Bk. Ill, ch. xii, xiv.) 

Jacques Four. A name given to himself by Monsieur Defarge as 
one of the Saint Antoine revolutionists. See Defarge," Monsieur 
Ernest. 

Jacques Five. An associate of Defarge ; a mender of roads, af- 
terwards a wood-sawyer. (Bk. II,- ch. viii, ix, xv, xvi, xxiii; Bk. 
Ill, ch. V, ix, xiv, XV.) 

Joe. A coachman. (Bk. I, ch. ii.) 

Lorry, Mr. Jarvis. A confidential clerk at the banking-house 
of Tellson and Company, in London. He is a friend of the Ma- 
nettes, and their companion during the terrible scenes of the Revo- 
lution in Paris. (Bk. I, ch. ii-vi ; Bk. II, ch. ii-iv, vi, xii, xvi- 
xxi, xxiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. ii-vi, viii, ix, xi-xiii, xv.) 

Very orderly and methodical he looked, with a hand on each knee, and a loud 
watch ticking a sonorous sermon under his flapped waistcoat, as though it 
pitted its gravity and longevity against the levity and evanescence of the brisk 
fire. He had a good leg, and was a little vain of it ; for his brown stockings 
fitted sleek and close, and were of a fine texture : his shoes and buckles, too, 
though plain, were trim. He wore an odd little sleek, crisp, flaxen wig, setting 
very close to his head ; which wig, it is to be presumed, was made of hair, but 
which looked far more as though it were spun from filaments of silk or glass. 
His linen, though not of a fineness in accordance with his stockings, was as 
white as the tops of the waves that broke upon the neighboring beach, or the 
specks of sail that glinted in the sunlight far at sea. A face habitually sup- 
pressed and quieted was still lighted up under the quaint wig by a pair of moist 
bright eyes, that it must have cost their owner, in years gone by, some pains to 
35 



410 8tl)e IBicfeens Bfctfonat^. 

drill to *,he composed and reserved expression of Tellson's Bank. He had a 
healthy color in his cheeks ; and his face, though lined, bore few traces of anx- 
iety. But perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in Tellson's Bank were 
principally occupied with the cares of other people ; and perhaps second-hand 
cares, like second-hand clothes, come easily off and on. 

Manette, Doctor Alexander. A physician of Paris, confined 
for eighteen years in the Bastille, because, in his professional capa- 
city, he had become acquainted with the secret crimes of a noble 
family. Released just before the outbreak of the Revolution, he 
goes to England, whither his wife and daughter had preceded him, 
and \\4iere the former had died. Restored to his child, who nurses 
him with tender solicitude, he gradually recovers the use of his fac- 
ulties, which had become greatly impaired during his long impris- 
onment. About this time, a young French nobleman, disgusted 
with the tyranny of the class to which he belongs, renounces his 
title and fortune, expatriates himself, and settles in England, where 
he passes under the name of Charles Darnay. He there becomes 
acquainted with and marries the daughter of Doctor Manette. 
Having been summoned back to Paris, at the outbreak of the Revo- 
lution, to release from prison, by his testimony, an old and faithful 
servant of his family, he is himself thrown into La Force, immedi- 
ately upon his arrival, as a proscribed emigrant. His wife and her 
father follow him, however ; and Doctor Manette, whose popularity 
is very high, succeeds in securing his acquittal. Yet in a few days 
he is re-accused and re-arrested ; the charge against him being, that 
he is an aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, denounced enemies 
of the Republic ; and the evidence against him is a paper written 
by Doctor Manette, when a prisoner in the Bastille, and secreted 
by him in a hole in the chimney of his cell. - This document, which 
had been discovered at the capture of the prison, recites the story 
of the good doctor's sufferings, details the abominable iniquities of 
the St. Evremonde family (to which Darnay belongs), and ends 
by denouncing them and their descendants, to the last of the race, to 
the times when all such things shall be answered for. Darnay is 
condemned to death ; but, through the heroic self-devotion of Sydney 
Carton, he is saved from such a fate, and is taken to England by his 
wife and her father, where they all lead a peaceful, prosperous, and 
happy life, and pass at last to a tranquil death. (Bk. I, ch. ii-vi ; 
Bk. II, ch. ii-iv, vi, ix, x, xii, xiii, xvi-xxi, xxiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. ii-vii, 
ix-xii, xiv, xv.) 

Manette, Lucie. His daughter; aii^erward^ the wife of Charles 



^ STale of STtoo ©ftfes. 411 

Darnay. (Bk. I, ch. iv-vi ; Bk. II, ch. ii-vi, ix-xiii, xvi-xxi, xxiv ; 
Bk. Ill, ch. iii-vii, ix-xii, xiv, xv.) 

A young lady of ... a short, slight, pretty figure, a quantity of golden hair, 
a pair of blue eyes . . . and a forehead with a singular capacity (remember- 
ing how young and smooth it was) of lifting and knitting itself into an expres- 
sion that was not quite one of perplexity or wonder or alarm, or merely of a 
bright fixed attention; though it included all the four expressions. 

Mender of Roads, The. See Jacques Five. 
Monseigneur. A great lord in power at the French court. (Bk. 

II, ch. vii.) 
Monseigneur. A personification of the French nobility. (Bk. 

II, ch. xxiii, xxiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. ii.) 
Prison Sheep, The. See Pross, Solomon. 
Pross, Miss. Miss Lucie Manette's maid; sister of Solomon Pross. 

She is a grim, wild-looking woman, with red face and hair, brawny 

arms, abrupt manners, and singular habits ; yet, — 

Beneath the surface of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures — 
found only among women — who will, for pure love and admiration, bind 
themselves willing slaves, to youth, when they have lost it, to beauty that they 
never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, 
to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives. 

When the Manettes escape from Paris, Miss Pross remains behind 
to conceal their flight, and, in trying to do so, gets involved in a hand- 
to-hand conflict with Madame Defarge, a ruthless and desperate 
woman, who is on their track. In the struggle, Madame Defarge 
draws a pistol, and attempts to shoot her antagonist ; but Miss Pross 
strikes at it at the moment of firing, and the charge takes eflect on 
the French woman, killing her instantly. Miss Pross hurries from 
the house, closely veiled ; takes a carriage which has been in wait- 
ing for her ; and succeeds in escaping safely to England. (Bk. I, 
ch. iv ; Bk. II, ch. vi, x, xvii-xix, xxi ; Bk. Ill, ch. ii, iii, vii, viii, 
xiv.) 

pross, Solomon, called also John Bars ad, and nicknamed 
" Prison Sheep." A heartless scoundrel, who strips his sister of 
every thing she possesses, as a stake to speculate with, and then 
abandons her in her poverty to support herself as she can. He 
becomes a spy and secret informer in the service of the English 
government, and afterwards a turnkey in the Conciergerie in Paris. 
(Bk. I, ch. iii, vi, xiv, xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. viii, ix, xi, xiii-xv.) 

Stc Evremonde, Marquis. Uncle of Charles Darnay ; twin- 
brother, joint inheritor, and next successor of the elder marquis. 
(Bk. II, ch. vii-ix; Bk. Ill, ch. x.) See p. 545. 



112 2ri)e ©icftens IDfctlonar^. 

He was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in manner, and 
with a face like a fine mask, — a face of a transparent paleness ; every feature in 
it clearly defined ; one set expression on it. The nose, beautifully formed other- 
wise, was very slightly pinched at the top of each nostril. In those two com- 
pressions, or dints, the only little change that the face ever showed resided. 
They persisted in changing color sometimes, and they would be occasionally di- 
lated and contracted by something like a faint pulsation ; then they gave a look 
of treachery and cruelty to the whole countenance. Examined with attention, 
its capacity of helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth and 
the lines of the orbits of the eyes, being much too horizontal and thin ; still, in 
the effect the face made, it was a handsome face, and a remarkable one. 

St. Evremonde, Marquis. Twin-brother-of the younger mar- 
quis, and father of Charles Darnay. (Bk. Ill, eh. x.) 

St. Evremonde, Marquise. His wife; a young lady, hand- 
some, engaging, and good, but not happy in her marriage. (Bk. Ill, 
ch. X.) 

St. Evremonde, Charles, called Chables Darnay. His son ; 
a French emigre, afterwards married to Lucie Manette. (Bk. II, 
ch. ii-vi, ix, x, xvi-xviii, xx, xxi, xxiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. i-vii, ix-xv.) 
See Manette, Doctor Alexander. 

St. Evremonde, Lucie. His daughter. (Bk. II, ch. xxi ; Bk. 
in, ch. ii, iii, v-vii, xi, xiii, xiv.) 

Stryver, Mr. A London barrister; council of Charles Darnay, 
and patron of Sydney Carton. (Bk. II, ch. ii-v, xi, xxi, xxiv.) 
See Carton, Sydney. 

A man of little more than thirty, but looking twenty years older than he 
was; stout, loud, red, bluflT, and free from any drawback of delicacy; [with] a 
pushing way of shouldering himself (morally and physically) into companies and 
conversations, that argued well for his shouldering his way up in life. 

Tellson and Company. An old and eminent banking-firm in 
London. (Bk. I, ch. iii, iv ; Bk. II, ch. i, iii, vii, ix.) 

Tellson's Bank, by Temple Bar, was an old-fashioned place, even in the year 
one thousand seven hundred and eighty. It was very small, very dark, very 
ugly, very incommodious. It was an old-fashioned place, moreover, in the 
moral attribute that the partners in the house were proud of its smallness, 
proud of its darkness, proud of its ugliness, proud of its incommodiousness. 
They were even boastful of its eminence in those particulars, and were fired by 
an express conviction, that, if it were less objectionable, it would be less respect- 
able. This was no passive belief, but an active weapon, which they flahhed at 
more convenient places of business. Tellson's (they said) wanted no elbow 
room ; Tellson's wanted no light ; Tellson's wanted no embellishments. Noakea 
and Co. 's might ; or Snooks Brothers' might : but Tellson's, thank Heaven ! — . . . 
After bursting open a door of idiotic obstinacy with a weak rattle in its throat, 
you fell into Tellson's, down two steps, and came to your senses in a miserable 
little shop, with two little counters, where the oldest of men made your check 
shake as if the wind rustled it, while they examined vour fiTiioture bv the din- 



^ STale of STtoo ®ftie». 413 

giest of windows, which were always under a shower-bath of mud from Fleet 
Street, and which were made the dingier by their own iron bars proper, and 
the heavy shadow of Temple Bar. If your business necessitated your seeing 
" the House," you were put into a species of condemned hold at the back, where 
you meditated on a misspent life, until the House came with its hands in its 
pockets, and you could hardly blink at it in the dismal twilight. Your money 
came out of, or went into, wormy old wooden drawers, particles of which 
flew up your nose and down your throat when they were opened and shut. 
Your bank-notes had a musty odor, as if they were fast decomposing into rags 
again. Your plate was stowed away among the neighboring cesspools, and evil 
communications corrupted its good polish in a day or two. Your deeds got into 
extemporized strong rooms made of kitchens and sculleries, and fretted all the 
fat out of their parchments into the banking-house air. 

rom. Coachman of the Dover mail. (Bk. I, ch. ii.) 

Vengeance, The. One of the leading revolutionists among the 

Saint Antoine women ; lieutenant to Madame Defarge. (Bk. II, 

ch. xxii ; Bk. HI, ch. ix, xii, xiv, xv.) 



414 STlJe 23icfeens Bfctiona;^. 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS, 

BOOK I. — Chaptee I. Social condition of England and France in 1775. — II. The Dover 
mail climbing Shooter's Hill ; a messenger overtakes it with a despatch for Mr. Jarvis 
Lorry; he receives a very singular message to carry bacli; his perplexity over it. — III. 
Mr. Lorry's dream as he rode through the night. — IV. How he looked, and what he did 
at "The Royal George," at Dover; Miss Manette comes; he tells her, as "a matter of 
business," that her father, whom she supposed dead, has been imprisoned many j'ears, bul 
Is now free at Paris; she is stunned by the intelligence. — V. A wine-cask bursts in Saint 
Antoine, and a crowd try to secui-e the wine ; " Hunger" is blazoned on all the dwellings, 
shops, and people of Saint Antoine ; Defarge, the wine-shop keeper, leads Mr. Lorty and 
Miss Manette to the garret where her father is making shoes. — VI. Doctor Manette's ap- 
pearance and voice ; how he came to understand shoemaking ; Lucie tries to recall to his 
mind long-forgotten incidents; they take him from the garret, and out of France. 

BOOK II. — Chaptee I. Tellson's Bank a triumph of inconvenience ; Jerry Cruncher 
at home ; is greatly disturbed by Mrs. Cruncher's " flopping ; " with young Jerry goes to 
his station near Tellson's, and chews straws till called to go on an errand. — II. He is sent 
to the Old Bailey, where Charles Damay is put on trial for treason. — III. The attorney- 
general's speech; testimony of John Barsad and Roger Cly, of Mr. Lorry, of Miss Ma- 
nette, of Doctor Manette ; strange likeness of Sydney Carton to the prisoner ; the case given 
to the jury; Darnay is acquitted. — IV. Receives his friends' congratulations; Carton and 
Damay dine together. — V. Stryver as lion, and Carton as jackal; Carton " works up " two 
cases for Stryver. — VI. Doctor Manette's house near Soho Square ; Mr. Lorry goes there one 
fine Sunday; talks with Miss Pross; t le doctor and Lucie come home; Mr. Darnay calls, 
and tells of a cui-ious fact he heard while confined in the Tower, by which the doctor is 
much startled ; Carton calls ; their conversation before and during a thunder-storm. — VII. 
Monscigneur, a French lord, takes his chocolate; character of the people who frequented 
his rooms ; Marquis Saint Evr^monde drives over and kills Gaspard's child ; Defarge comes, 
and a stout woman, knitting. — VIII. The marquis goes to his country-seat ; the poverty- 
stricken village near it ; a road-mender tells the marquis of seeing a spectral-looking man 
swinging by the carriage -drag ; a poor woman, whose husband has died of want, petitions 
the marquis for a bit of stone or wood to mark his grave. —IX. He reaches the chateau, 
and soon his nephew, Charles Darnay, comes ; their conversation ; the sleeping night and 
the waking morning; the marquis rs found assassinated. — X. Charles Darnay teaches in 
England ; tells Doctor Manette his love for Lucie. — XI. Conversation between Stryver and 
Carton about Stryver's plan to marry Miss Manette. — XII. Stryver, on his waj' to tell 
her his intention, stops at Tellson's, communicates his plan to Mr. Lorrj', who advises him 
not to do it; IMr. Lorry, after seeing Miss Alanette, reiterates his advice, and is astounded 
by the nonchalance of Stryver. — XIII. Sydney Carton confesses to Miss JManettc that she 
is the last dream of his life, and that even her influence cannot redeem him from the run 
he has brought on his career and character. —XlV. The funeral of Roger Cly, first fol- 
lowed, then managed, by a fierce mob; Jerry, having notified his wife that he shall 
'* work " her for " fiopping," if ill success attend his efforts, goes out " fishing " after mid- 
night; young Jerry follows; sees him, joined by two other men, enter a graveyard ; they 
raise a coflin, and young Jerry flees home in deadly fear, fancying himself closely pursued 
by the cofiin ; Cruncher, returning unsuccessful, takes his wife to task for it ; next morn- 
ing, oi^thcir way to Tellson's, young Jerry asks his father about the business of a "resur- 
rection-man."- XV. Wine-Drinking at Defarge's, madame keeping shop; Defarge and 
the road-mender enter, and soon follow the three Jacques to the garret once occupied by 
Doctor Manette ; the road-mender tells of Gaspard, the assassin of Marquis Saint Evr6- 
monde; his arrest eleven months after the murder; his imprisonment in the marquis's 
castle; his execution; Defarge and madame go with the road-mender on Sunday to Ver- 
Bailles to see the king and nobility ; the road-mender is enthusiastic in his loyal demon- 
Itrations. — XVI. Defarge tells madame that John Barsad has been commissioned as 



^ Sale of STiuo (JCftfes. 415 

goveminent-spy for Saint Antoine, and describes him; madame re-assures Dcfarge's failing 
courage ; Barsad comes to the wine-shop ; madame puts a rose in her haii', and the cus- 
tomers all go out, leaving him talking with her; he feigns much sympathy for Gaspard; 
addresses Defarge — who comes in — a» Jacques, h\it is corrected; he tells them that Miss 
Manette is going to marry Charles Damay. — XVII. Doctor Manette and Lucie under the 
plane-tree the evening before her marriage ; he assures her of his entire satisfaction that 
she is to be married; tells her the thoughts and fancies he had of her while in prison. — 
XVIII. Mr. Lorry gives her his parting bachelor-blessing; the marriage; Damay and 
Lucie leave for Warwickshire; something Damay had told the doctor just before the 
marriage brings back his old bewilderment, and he returns to making shoes; expedients 
adopted by Mr. Lorry to restore him, and not to mar Lucie's wedding-tour. — XIX. The 
tenth morning, Mr. Lorry finds the doctor recovered; has a long conversation with him on 
tlie cause of his malady, and obtains his consent to remove the shoemaker's bench and 
tools during his absence. — XX. Carton asks and obtains permission of Daniay to come 
to his house occasionally; Lucie tells Damay that Carton is better at heart than he 
seems, and begs for kind and generous treatment of him. — XXI. Echoes of little feet in 
Lucie's life ; Carton's manner when A'isiting the Darnays ; Stryver shoulders himself into 
wealth, marries a rich widow, takes her three sons to be taught by Darnaj', who declines 
the patronage ; Mr. Lorry calls at Darnay's, one July evening, quite irritated by his un- 
usual day's work; the same day the people of Saint Antoine rise in revolution; Defarge 
leads them in repeated furious assaults on the Bastille; when it is taken, he forces the 
turnkey to conduct him to North Tower, where Doctor Manette had been confined ; appar- 
ently finds nothing ; the governor is stabbed by the mob, and Madame Defarge hews oflf 
his head. — XXII. Foulon, who had once told the famished people to eat grass, is taken, 
briefly tried, and swiftly hanged. — XXIII. A grim, shaggy man comes where the road- 
mender is at work, learns the location of the marquis's castle, then falls asleep ; that night, 
the castle is burned; the villagers refuse to aid in extinguishing the fire, but ring the bell, 
and illuminate their houses. — XXIV. Monseigneur, representative of the French nobility, 
escaped from Paris, at Tellson's ; Mr. Lorry announces to Damay his plan of going to 
Paris to secure from Tellson's Paris Bank some important books and papers ; Damay sees 
a letter addressed to hira by his real name (Evr^monde); the depreciating remarks of 
Monseigneur, and the coarse bullying remarks of Stryver; letter from Gabelle in prison 
at Paris, imploring Darnay's assistance; Darnay resolves to go to Paris; sees Mr. Lorry 
off, writes letters to Lucie and Doctor Manette, and next night starts on his journey. 

BOOK III. — Chapter I. He meets obstacles constantly from citizen-patriots ; finally is 
furnished with escorts; just escapes with life from the mob at Beauvais; arrives at Paris ; 
is at once consigned to the prison of La Force ; Defarge accompanies him, asking some ques- 
tions, but declaring that he will do nothing for him ; at the prison, a company of refined and 
courteous prisoners welcome him ; he is put in a cell, and left to his maddening thoughts. — 
II. Tellson's Bank at Paris ; Doctor Manette and Lucie rush into Mr. Lorry's room, to his 
utter surprise ; he tells Lucie that he knows of no harm having befallen Damay ; puts her 
in a safer room, then looks out of a window with Doctor Manette on a yard where scores of 
fierce men and women are grinding weapons dulled by murdering prisoners ; Doctor Mar 
nette, safe because he has been a Bastille prisoner, rushes into the crowd, makes himself 
known, and is hurried away to La Force to save Darnay. — III. Mr. Lorry procures lodg- 
ings for Lucie, her daughter, and Miss Pross; Defarge brings him a note from the doctor 
stating that Darnay is safe ; Madame Defarge and The Vengeance look carefully at Lucie 
and her child, but give little heed to her plea for kindness to Damay ; what the doctor 
said and heard while trying to save him ; his perfect self-possession and resolution ; the 
sharp female cC.led La Guillotine; Lucie's steady devotion to her household duties. — V. 
She goes daily t ^ a spot where the doctor had told her Damay could see her, though she 
could not see him; the horrible dance of the Camiagnole. — "SI. Damay is summoned 
before the Tribunal ; his answers ; the testimony of Gabelle, Doctor Manette, and Mr. Lorry ; 
ie is acquitted; the crowd carry him home in triumph. — VII. Miss Pross and Cruncher 
prepare for an unusually elaborate marketing in honor of the release of Darnay ; he is 
again arrested on the accusation of Defarge, Madame, and another. —VIII. Miss Pross, 
marketing with Jerry, meets her brother Solomon in "The Good Eepublican Brutus of 
&.ntiquitj; "' he goes with her into the street, and is just getting rid of her, when Jeriy 



416 "'^^■'^V'^ 2r|)e 23icfeens ©fctfonars* 

; ; > J f » ; i T '^ • 

'■■ ttafrj-lcoghizes him, dnd Sydney Carton calls him by name, "Barsad; " by a half-threat 
Carton induces Barsad to go with him to Mr. Lorry's; convinces him that he knows so 
much of hig^Villany as to have him in his power; Barsad declares Cly dead, and Jerry 
■■ <. veliememiy denies it. — IX. Mr. Lorry questions Jerry as to his knowledge of Cly's being 

' ' •. . alive, and learns that Jerry is an " Agricultooral character ; ' ' Carton tells Mr. Lorry he has 
arr^gefl with Barsad, who is one of the turnkeys at the Conciergerie, to be admitted to 
Damay once if it should go ill with him ; they talk of Lucie, of the days when they were 
children at their mothers' knees; Carton talks with a wood-sawyer about the guillotine; 
procures some drugs ft'om a chemist; walks the streets all night, repeating again and 
again the words read at his father's grave ; Damay again before the Tribunal ; the prose- 
cutor states that Darnay is denounced by INIonsieur and Madame Defarge, also by Doctor 
Manette ; the doctor, denying the statement, is stopped, and obliged to sit down ; Defarge 
testifies to having found in North Tower a paper, written by Doctor Manette in prison in 
1767, in which the doctor states, that in December, 1757, he was overtaken by two men ; was 
compelled to with them to a country-seat two miles out of Paris, where he found a 
patient, a young woman, who in her delirium, at regular intervals, shrieked, and said, 
"My husband, my father, and my brother," then counted twelve; administered medicines 
with little effect ; another patient, a boy of seventeen, dying of a sword-wound ; he tells 
the doctor, in the presence of the two unfeeling brothers, how brutally these nobles treat 
their tenants; that the delirious young woman is his sister; that her husband was worked 
to death in order that the younger brother might have her ; that he had hidden his younger 
Bister, then tried to kill the younger noble, and was mortally wounded ; the young woman 
dies; the doctor writes all the circumstances to the minister; the wife of Marquis St. 
Evr^monde calls on the doctor, and expresses her great desire to do what she can to atone 
for the gross wrongs of her husband and his brother; the doctor is imprisoned; on this 
testimony, Darnay is swiftly condemned to die within twenty-four hours.— XI. Darnay 
and Lucie meet a few moments in the court-room; Carton carrries Lucie to a carriage 
thence to her room ; arranges to have Doctor Manette make another effort to save Darnay, 
and meet him at Mr. Lorry's at nine o'clock that night. — XII. Carton goes to Defarge 's 
wine-shop ; hears Madame Defarge, Jacques Three, and The Vengeance urge the utter ex- 
termination of all the family of Evr^monde ; Defiirge opposes tills, for the doctor's sake ; 
Madame declares herself the younger sister of the woman and boy killed by the Evr6- 
mondes ; at midnight, the doctor enters Mr. Lorry's room crazy, demanding his bench 
again ; Carton finds; a passport in his case ; tells Mr. Lorry what he heard Madame De 
farge say; arranges with him to have every thing ready to start for England next day at 
two, P.M. ; then bids him " Good-by." — XIII. Darnay's last night in the Conciergerie ; he 
becomes composed ; writes letters to Lucie, Doctor Manette, and Mr. Lorry ; dreams of his 
happy home near Soho Square ; wakes, and counts the hours calmly ; wonders how the guil- 
lotine is made ; at one, p.m., Sydney Carton comes in ; Carton dictates for Darnay to write, 
and, with drugs procured at the chemist's, renders him unconscious ; changes clothes with 
him ; then Barsad carries him out as if overcome with grief; Carton meets a sweet-faced 
seamstress in the hall where the day's victims are gathered, and promises to hold her 
hand as they ride to execution ; the carriage, with Mr. Lorry, Doctor Manette, Darnay, Lu- 
cie, and the child, reaches the Barrier ; the papers are examined ; thej' drive as fast as they 
dare, not to excite suspicion, but are not pursued. — XIV. Madame Defarge, The Ven- 
geance, and Jacques Three determine that Lucie shall be denounced ; having directed The 
Vengeance to reserve for her a seat at the execution, Madame Defarge goes to see Lucie, 
to be able to bear witness that she impeached the justice of the Republic ; Jerry and Miss 
Pross consult as to the best place for them to start from; Jerry goes; Madame Defarge 
enters the house, and demands to see Lucie ; Miss Pross utterly defiant ; neither under- 
stands a word the other says ; at last they grapple, and in the struggle Madame is shot by 
her own pistol; Miss Pross locks the door, throws the key into the river, joins Jerry, 
and they start for England, the crash of the pistol-shot ringing in her ears, and to ring 
there for ever. —XV. Sydney Carton's ride in a tumbril to the guillotine ; The Vengeance 
Is greatly excited because Madame Defarge does not come ; Carton cheers and comforts 
the seamstress, they kiss, and are executed ; the prophetic thoughts Carton may have had 
»f the future, experience of his friends and foes. 




^unteir Womn. 



THIS tale was written speciaUy for « The New-York Ledger," in which paper it 
appeared in the numbers for August 20 and 27 and Septembers, 1859 (Vol. XV, 
No. 24-26), illustrated with seven woodcuts. It was republished in 1860 in '* AU 
the Year Round," 4th and 11th of August (1st series, No. 67 and 68.) 



CEARACTEB8 INTRODUCED, 

Adams, Mr. Clerk in tlie life-assurance office of whicli Mr. 

Sampson is the chief manager. 
Banks, Major. An old East India Director, who assists Mr. 
Sampson in rescuing Miss Niner from the toils of Mr. Julius 
Slinkton. 
Beckwith, Mr. Alfred. 5ee Meltham, Mr. 
Meltham, Mr. Actuary of the Inestimable Life-Assurance Com- 
pany, lie falls in love with one of Mr. Julius Slinkton's nieces, 
a lovely girl, whose life is insured in his office. She soon dies 
from the effects of a slow poison secretly administered to her by 
her uncle ; and Mr. Meltham, having become thoroughly assured 
of the villain's guilt, devotes himself thenceforth to the single 
object of hunting him down. Resigning his situation, he causes a 
report of his death to be put into circulation ; assumes the name of 
Mr. Alfred Beckwith; takes rooms in the Middle Temple, opposite 
those of Mr. Slinkton, — to whom he is personally unknown,— 
and makes them a trap for him. Affecting to be a confirmed ine- 
briate, he deludes the murderer into thinking that it would be an 
easy thing to obtain an insurance on his life for two thousand 
pounds, and then to do him to death with brandy, or, brandy not 



US 2C|)e Bicfeens I^fctfonarj. 

V 

proving quick enough, with something quicker. The plotting, 
however, into which Slinkton is led, is well understood all along, 
and is counterplotted all along. The fitting time having arrived, 

'^Jbgi^ls confronted with the evidences of his guilt, when, finding him- 
self brought to bay, he swallows some of the powerful poison he 
always carries with him, and falls down a dead man. 

Niner, Miss Margaret. Mr. Slinkton*s niece. She is saved 
from falling a victim to the wickedness of her uncle by the efforts 
of Mr. Sampson and Major Banks, who reveal to her his real 
character, and induce her to leave him for ever. 

Sampson, Mr. Chief manager of a life-assurance company, and 
narrator of the story, in which he is also one of the actors. 

Slinkton, Mr. Julius. A gentleman, educated, well bred, and 
agreeable, who professes to be on the point of going into orders, but 
who is, in reality, a consummate hypocrite and villain. He effects 
an insurance for two thousand pounds on the life of Mr. Alfred 
BeckAvith, and then attempts to poison him in order to get the 
money ; but, being foiled in his object, he destroys himself. 

In this character, Dickens has drawn a portrait, only slightly 
idealized, of Thomas Griffiths Wainewright, well known as a cox- 
combical writer for " The London Magazine,'* under the pseudonym 
of Janus Weathercock. This monster actually poisoned a number 
of persons whose lives had been insured for large sums (among 
them his wife's step-sister and her mother) ; and in some instances 
he succeeded in obtaining the money. He was arrested, at last, 
on a charge of forgery, and sentenced to be transported to Van 
Diemen's Land, where he died of apoplexy, in 1852, at the age of 
fifty-seven. Lord Lytton has introduced him into his powerful 
novel of " Lucretia ; or, the Children of Night." 



Uncommercial Qlxamlitx. 



In December, 1860, seventeen papers, on a variety of topics, which had previ- 
ously appeared at intervals in " All the Year Round," vrere published in a collec- 
tive form, under the above title, by Chapman and Hall. A second edition, with 
illustrations, in which the number of sketches was increased to twenty-eight, was 
brought out in the latter part of 1868. "■ There is present " in them, says a recent 
critic, "a wonderful delicacy of detail colored by a pleasant gay ety. . . . It [would 
not] be easy to analyze the special charm of these cabinet gems. If wit, as we 
have been told over and over again, consists in the surprise that arises from the 
discovery of a relation between ideas which have not the least similitude, there is 
an abundance of wit present in these essays. But there is a good-humored tone 
of modulated satire, and a charming grotesqueness, without the least violence, 
which, either by suggestion or shape, link the thousand material objects about us 
to our mental sympathies, and delightfully bridge over the space between mind 
and matter." 

The Uncommercial Traveller introduces himself to the reader in these words : — 
*' I am both a town-traveller and a country-traveller, and am always on the 
road. Figuratively speaking, I travel for the great house of Human Interest 
Brothers, and have rather a large connection in the fancy goods way. Literally 
speaking, I am always wandering here and there ft-om my rooms in Covent 
Garden, London, — now about the city streets, now about the country by-roads, 
— seeing many little things, and some great, things, which, because they interest 
me, I think may interest others." 



CRAB A CTERS INTR OB UOED. 

Anderson, John. A tramp, whose only improvidence appears to 
have been that he has spent the last of his little " all ** upon soap. 
XI. Tramps. 

419 



420 2C5e SSfcfeeKs ISfctionarj. 

Anderson, Mrs. His wife; a woman spotless to behold. XI. 
Tramps, 

Antonio. A swarthy young Spanish guitar-player. V. Poor 
Mercantile Jack. 

Battens, Mr. A virulent old pensioner at TitbuU's. XXVII. Tit- 
hull's Almshouses. 

Bones, Mr. Banjo. A comic Ethiopian minstrel, with a black- 
ened face and a limp sugar-loaf hat. V. Poor Mercantile Jack. 

Bones, Mrs. Banjo. His wife; a "professional" singer. V, 
Poor Mercantile Jack. 

Carlavero, Giovanni. Keeper of a small wine-shop, in a certain 
small Italian town on the Mediterranean. He had been a political 
offender, sentenced to imprisonment for life, but was afterwards 
released through the zealous intervention of a generous English 
nobleman (Lord Dudley Coutts Stuart). Desirous of testifying 
his gratitude to his benefactor, whom he has not seen since his 
liberation, he sends him by Mr. Dickens an immense demijohn of 
wine, the first produce of his little vineyard. With infinite diffi- 
culty this frail and enormous bottle, holding some half-dozen gal- 
lons, is safely carried to England ; but the wine turns to vinegar 
before it reaches its destination. Yet " the Englishman," says 
Mr. Dickens, " told me, with much emotion in his face and voice, 
that he had never tasted wine that seemed to him so sweet and 
sound ; and long afterwards the bottle graced his table." XXVHI. 
The Italian Prisoner. 

Chips. A shipwright, who sells himself to the Devil for half a ton 
of copper, a bushel of tenpenny nails, an iron pot, and a rat that 
can speak. He gets disgusted with the rat, and tries to kill it, but 
does not succeed, and is punished by being subjected to a swarm 
and plague of rats, who finally compass his destruction by eating 
through the planks of a ship in which he has been " pressed " for a 
sailor. XV. Nurse*s Stories. 

Cleverly, Susannah. A Mormon emigrant ; a young woman of 
business. XX. Bound for the Great Salt Lake. 

Cleverly, "William. Her brother, also a Mormon emigrant. 
XX. Bound for the Great Salt Lake. 

Dibble, Mr. Sampson. A Mormon emigrant ; a very old man, 
who is stone-blind. XX. Bound for the Great Salt Lake. 

Dibble, Mrs. Dorothy. His wife, who accompanies him. XX. 
Bound for the Great Salt Lake. 



85ncommercfal Srabeller. 421 

Paoe-Maker, Monsieur the. A corpulent little man with a 
comical face. He is heralded as "the great changer of counte- 
nances, who transforms the features that Heaven has bestowed upon 
him into an endless succession of surprising and extraordinary vis- 
ages, comprehending all the contortions, energetic and expressive, 
of which the human face is capable, and all the passions of the 
human heart, as love, jealousy, revenge, hatred, avarice, despair." 
XXV. In the French-Flemish Country. 

Flanders, Sally. A former nurse of the Uncommercial Trav- 
eller, and widow of Flanders, a small master-builder. XXVI. 
Medicine-Men of Civilization. 

Flipfield, Mr. A friend of the Uncommercial Traveller's. XIX. 
Birthday Celebrations. 

Flipfield, Mrs. His mother. XIX. Birthday Celebrations. 

Flipfield, Miss. His elder sister. She is in the habit of speak- 
ing to new acquaintances, in pious and condoning tones, of all the 
quarrels that have taken place in the family from her infancy. 
XIX. Birthday Celebrations. 

Flipfield, Mr. Tom, called The Long-Lost. A brother of Mr. 
Flipfield's. After an absence of many years in foreign parts, he 
returns home, and is warmly welcomed by his family and friends ; 
but he proves to be " an antipathetical being, with a peculiar power 
and gift of treading on everybody's tenderest place ; " and every- 
body wishes that he could instantly be transported back to the 
foreign parts which have tolerated him so long. XIX. Birthday 
Celebrations. 

Globson, Bully. A schoolmate of the Uncommercial Traveller's ; 
a big fat boy, with a big fat head, and a big fat fist. XIX. Birth' 
day Celebrations. 

Grazinglands, Mr. Alexander. A midland county gentleman, 
of a comfortable property, on a visit to London. VI. Refreshments 
for Travellers. 

Grrazinglands, Mrs. Arabella. His wife; the pride of her 
division of the county. VI. Refreshments for Travellers. 

Head, Oakum. A refractory female pauper, who " would be very 
thankful to be got into a place, or got abroad." HI. Wapping 
Workhoiise. 

Jack, Dark. A simple and gentle negro sailor. V. Poor Mer^ 
cantile Jack. 
36 



422 2CI)e 33fcfecns Bictionarg. 

Jack, Mercantile. A representative- of the sailors employed in 
the merchant marine. V. Poor Mercantile Jack. 

Jobson, Jesse, Number Two. A Mormon emigrant; the 
head of a family of eight persons. XX. Bound for the Great Salt 
Lake. 

Kinch, Horace. An inmate of the King's Bench Prison, where 
he dies. XHI. Night Walks. 

He was a likely man to look at, in the prime of life, well to do, as clever as 
he needed to be, and popular among many friends. He was suitably married, 
and had healthy and pretty children ; but, like some fair-looking houses or fair- 
looking ships, he took the dry rot. . . . Those who knew hira had not nigh 
done saying, " So well off I so comfortably established! with such hope before 
him ! " — . . . when, lo I the man was all dry rot and dust. 

Kindheart, Mr. An Englishman of an amiable nature, great 
enthusiasm, and no discretion. XXVI. Medicine-Men of Civiliza- 
tion. 

KHem, Mr. A weak old man, meagre and mouldy, who is never to 
be seen detached from a flat pint of beer in a pewter pot. XVI. 
Arcadian London. 

Klem, Mrs. His wife ; an elderly woman, laboring under a chronic 
sniff, and having a dejected consciousness that she is not justified 
in appearing on the surface of the earth. XVI. Arcadian London. 

K.lem, Miss. Their daughter, apparently ten years older than 

either her father or mother. XVI. Arcadian London. 
Mellows, Mr. J. Landlord of the " Dolphin's Head." XXII. An 

Old Stage-Coaching House. 
Mercy. A nurse who relates diabolical stories to the Uncommercial 

Traveller, when a child, with a fiendish enjoyment of his terrors. 

XV. Nurse's Stories. 
Mitts, Mrs. A pensioner at TitbuU's ; a tidy, well-favored widow, 

with a propitiatory way of passing her hands over and under one 

another. XXVII. TitbulVs Almshouses. 
Murderer, Captain. A diabolical Avretch, admitted into tho best 

society, and possessing immense wealth. His missioc is natrimony, 

and the gratification of a cannibal appetite with tender brides. 

XV. Nui'se's Stones. 
Nan. A sailor's mistress. V. Poor Mercantile Jack. 
Onowenever, Mrs. Mother of a young lady (the Dora Spenlow 

of " David Copperfield," and the Flora Finching of " Little Dor- 

rit ") ardently loved by the Uncommercial Traveller in his youth 

XIX. Birthday Celebrations. 



Slncommercfal Srabeller. 425 

It is unnecessary to name her more particularly. She was older than I, and 
had pervaded every chink and crevice of my mind for three or four years. I had 
held volumes of imaginary conversations with her mother on the subject of 
our union; and I had written letters, more in number than Horace Walpole's, to 
that discreet woman, soliciting her daughter's hand in marriage. I had never 
had the remotest intention of sending any of those letters : but to write them, 
and, after a few days tear them up, had been a sublime occupation. 

Pangloss. An official friend of the Uncommercial Traveller's, 

lineally descended from the learned doctor of the same name, who 

was tutor to Candide. VIII. The Great Tasmania's Cargo. 

In his personal character, he is as humane and worthy a gentleman as any I 
know; in his official capacity, he unfortunately preaches the doctrines of his 
renowned ancestor, by demonstrating, on all occasions, that we live in the best 
of all possible official worlds. 

Parkle, Mr. A friend of the Uncommercial Traveller's. XIV. 
Chambers. 

Quickear. A policeman. V. Poor Mercantile Jack. 

Quinch, Mrs. The oldest pensioner at Titbull's ; a woman who 
has " totally lost her head." XXVII. Titbull's Almshouses. 

Refractory, Chief. A surly, discontented female pauper, with a 
voice in which the tonsils and uvula have gained a diseased ascend- 
ency. III. Wapping Workhouse. 

Refractory, Number Two. Another pauper of the same charac- 
ter. III. Wapping Workhouse. 

Saggers, Mrs. One of the oldest pensioners at Titbull's, who has 
split the small community in which she lives into almost as many 
parties as there are dwellings in the precinct, by standing her pail 
outside her dwelling. XXVII. Titbull's Almshouses. 

Salcy, P., Family. A troupe of dramatic artists, fifteen in num- 
ber, under the management of Monsieur P. Salcy. XXV. In the 
French-Flemish Country. 

Sharpeye. A policeman. V. Poor Mercantile Jack. 

Specks, Joe. An old school-fellow of the Uncommercial Travel- 
ler ; afterwards a physician in Dullborough (where most of us 
come from who come from a country town). XII. Dullborough 
Town. 

Specks, Mrs. His wife, formerly Lucy Green ; an old friend of 
the Uncommercial Traveller's. XII. Dullborough Town. 

Squires, Olyrapia. An old flame of the Uncommercial Travel- 
ler's. XIX. Birthday Celebrations. 

Olympia was most beautiful (of course) ; and I loved her to that degree, 
that I used to be obliged to get out of my little bed, in the night, expressly to 
exclaim to Solitude, " Olympia Squires 1 " 



424 S:i)e Siemens iSictionarg. 

Straudenheim. A shop-keeper at Strasbourg; a large-lipped 
pear-nosed old man, with white hair and keen eyes, though near- 
sighted. VII. Travelling Abroad. 

Sweeney, Mrs. A professional laundress, in figure extremely 
like an old family umbrella. XIV. Chambers. 

Testator, Mr. An occupant of a very dreary set of chambers, in 
Lyon's Inn, which he furnishes with articles he finds locked up in 
one of the cellars, and having no owner, so far as is known to any- 
one. He is afterwards visited, late at night, by a man considerably 
sodden with liquor, who examines every article, claims them all 
as his own, and promises to call again the next morning, punctually 
at ten o'clock, but who fails to do so. XIV. Chambers. 

Whether he was a ghost, or a spectral illusion of conscience, or a drunken 
man who had no business there, or the drunken, rightful owner of the furniture, 
with a transitory gleam of memory; whether he got safe home, or had no home 
to get to ; whether he died of liquor on the way, or lived in liquor ever after- 
wards, — he never was heard of more. 

Trampfoot. A policeman. V. Poor Mercantile Jack. 

Ventriloquist, Monsieur the. A performer attached to a 
booth at a fair. He is a thin and sallow man of a weakly aspect. 
XXV. In the French-Flemish Country. 

Victualler, Mr. Licensed. Proprietor of a singing-house fre- 
quented by sailors; a sharp and watchful man, with tight lips, and 
a complete edition of Cocker's arithmetic in each eye. V. Poor 
Mercantile Jack. 

"Wackley, Mr. A coroner; a nobly patient and humane man. 
XVIII. Some Recollections of Mortality. 

Weedle, Anastasia. A pretty Mormon emigrant, elected by 
universal suffrage the beauty of the ship. XX. Bound for the 
Great Salt Lake. 

Wiltshire. A simple, fresh-colored farm-laborer, of eight and 
thirty. XX. Bound for the Great Salt Lake, 



uat €xptttatxon0. 



This tale originally appeared in "All the Year Round; " the first chapter being 
contained in the number for December 1, 1860. On its completion, in 1861, it was 
published by Chapman and Hall, in three volumes, with illustrations by Marcus 
Stone; and was " affectionately inscribed to Chauncy Hare Townshend." 



GHABACTEES INTBODUGED, 

Aged, The. See Wemmick, Mr., senior, 

Amelia. One of Mr. Jaggers's clients. (Ch. xx.) 

Avenger, The. See Pepper. 

Barley, Clara. Daugliter of Old Bill Barley; a very pretty, 
slight, dark-eyed girl of twenty, or so, of natural and winning man- 
ners, and a confiding and amiable disposition. She is betrothed to 
Herbert Pocket, whom she afterward marries. (Ch. xlvi, Iv, Iviii, 
lix.) 

parley. Old Bill. A bedridden purser ; a sad old rascal, always 
inebriated, and tormented by the gout in his right hand — and 
everywhere else. (Ch. xlvi, Iviii.) 

Biddy. An orphan ; second cousin to Mr. Wopsle, being his "great- 
aunt's grand-daughter." She is a good, honest girl, poor in purse 
and condition, but with a wealth of true womanliness which makes 
Joe Gargery, whose second wife she becomes, very rich indeed. 
(Ch. vii, xvi-xix, X2cxv, Iviii, lix.) 

Brandley, Mrs. A widow-lady at Richmond, with whom Estella 
is placed by Miss Havisham. (Ch. xxxviii.) 

Camilla, Mr. John or Raymond. A relative of Miss Havi- 
sham's ; a toady and a humbug. (Ch. xi, xxv.) 

36* 425 



426 2r]()e Bfcfeens IBictionarg. 

Camilla, Mrs. His wife ; sister to Mr. Pocket. She professes a 
great deal of love for Miss Havisham, and calls on her husband to 
testify that her solicitude for that lady is gradually undermining 
her to the extent of making one of her legs shorter than the other. 
(Ch. xi, XXV.) 

Clarriker. A young merchant or shipping-broker. (Ch. lii, Iviii.) 

Coiler, Mrs. AtoadyneighborofMr. and Mrs. Pocket's; a widow- 
lady of that highly sympathetic nature, that she agrees with every- 
body, blesses everybody, and sheds smiles or tears on everybody, 
according to circumstances. (Ch. xxiii.) 

Compeyson. A convict, and "the worst of scoundrels." He 

proves to be the man who professed to be Miss Havisham's lover. 

Mao-witch gives the following account of him to Pip : — 

Compey took me on to be his man and pardner. And what was Compey'3 
business in which we was to go pardners ? Compey's business was the swin- 
dling, handwriting forging, stolen bank-note passing, and such like. All sorts 
of traps as Compey could set with his head, and keep his own legs out of, and 
get the profits from, and let another man in for, was Compey's business. He 'd 
no more heart than a iron file ; he was as cold as death, and had the head of the 
Devil. . . . Not to go into the things that Compey planned, and I done, — which 
'ud take a week, — I '11 simply say to you, dear boy, . . . that that man got me 
into such nets as made me his black slave. I was always in debt to him, always 
under his thumb, always a-working, always a-getting into danger. He was 
younger than me ; but he 'd got craft ; and he 'd got learning ; and he overmatched 
me five hundred times told, and no mercy. 

He is at length committed for felony, is sentenced to seven 
years' imprisonment ; and is finally killed in a struggle with Mag- 
witch. (Ch. iii, V, xlii, xlv, xlvii, 1, liii-lvi.) 

Drummle, Bentley, called The Spider. A sulky, old-looking 
young man of a heavy order of architecture ; idle, proud, niggardly, 
reserved, and suspicious. He is a fellow-boarder with Pip at Mr. 
Pocket's, and his rival for the hand of Estella, whom he marries, and 
treats with great cruelty. (Ch. xxiii, xxv, xxxviii, xliii, xliv, xlviii.) 

Estella. The adopted daughter of Miss Havisham, and the heroine 
of the story. She proves to be the daughter of Abel Mag witch 
(or Provis), Pip's benefactor. Her foster-mother tells Pip that she 
had wished for a little girl to rear, and to save from her own fate (see 
Havisham, Miss) ; and that Mr. Jaggers had accordingly brought 
her such a child, — an orphan of about three years. 

" When she first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own. 
At first, I meant no more." 

" Well, well I " said I. " I hope so." 

<' But as she grew, and promised to be very beautiful, I gradually did worse; 




■'(l{f\ 



jaE GARGERY AND MRS. TOE. 



€Kreat Sjrpectations. 427 

and with my praises, and with my jewels, and with my teachings, and with this 
figure of myself always before her, — a warning to back and point my lessons, — 
I stole her heart away, and put ice in its place.'' 

Not content with moulding the impressionable child into the form 
that her own wild resentment, spurned affection, and wounded pride 
finds vengeance in, she marries her to an ill-tempered, clumsy, con- 
temptible booby (Bentley Drummle), who has nothing to recommend 
him but money and a ridiculous roll of addle-headed predecessors- 
After leading a most unhappy life, she separates from her husband, 
who subsequently dies from an accident consequent on his ill-treat- 
ment of a horse. Some two years after this event, she happens to 
meet Pip (who has always loved her) on the very spot where their 
first meeting had been when they were children. 

I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place ; and as the 
morning mists had risen long ago, when I first left the forge, so the evening 
mists were rising now ; and, in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they 
showed to me, I saw the shadow of no parting from her. 

(Ch. vii, ix, xi-xvi, xviii, xxii, xxvii, xxix, xxx, xxxii, xxxiii, 

xxxviii, xxxix, xliii, xliv, xlviii-li, Ivi, Ivii, lix.) 
Flopson. A nurse in Mr. Pocket's family. (Ch. xxii, xxiii.) 
Grargery, Joe. A blacksmith ; married to Pip's sister, who is an 

out-and-out termagant. 

Joe was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth 
face, and eyes of such a very undecided blue, that they seemed to have somehow 
got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tem- 
pered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow, — a sort of Hercules in strength, and also 
in weakness. 

When Pip is a small boy, he is harshly treated by his sister 
(with whom he lives, both of his parents being dead) ; but his 
kind-hearted brother-in-law befriends him as much as is possi- 
ble, and makes quite a companion of him. In the course of conver- 
sation, one night, when they happen to be left by themselves, Joe 
gives him some account of his early history, of the circumstances 
attending his marriage, and of the principles on which he regulates 
his domestic conduct. 

" Did n't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me ? " 

" No, Pip." 

" Why did n't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me ? " 

" "Well, Pip," said Joe, taking up the poker, and settling himself to his usual 
occupation, when he was thoughtful, of slowly raking the fii'e between the lower 
bars, " I '11 tell you. My father, Pip, — he were given to drink; and, when he 
were overtook with drink, he hammered away at my mother most onmerciful. 
It were a'raost the only hammering he did, indeed, 'xcepting at myself; and 



428 2ri)e iSicfeens ©fctfonars. 

he hammered at me with a wigor only to be equalled by the wigor with which he 
did n't hammer at his anwil. You 're a-listening and understanding, Pip ? " 

" Yes, Joe." 

" Consequence : my mother and me, we ran away from my father several 
times; and then my mother, she'd go out to work; and she 'd say, 'Joe,' she 'd 
say, ' now, please God, you shall have some schooling, child ; ' and she 'd put me 
to school. But my father were that good in his hart, that he could n't abear to 
be without us : so he 'd come with a most tremenjous crowd, and make such a 
row at the doors of the houses where we was, that they used to be obligated to 
have no more to do with us, and to give us up to him. And then he took us 
home, and hammered us ; which you see, Pip,'' said Joe, pausing in his meditative 
rakiug of the fire, and looking at me, " were a drawback on my learning." 

" Certainly, poor Joe I " 

"Though mind you, Pip," said Joe with a judicial touch or two of the poker 
on the top bar, " rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining equal justice 
betwixt man and man, my father were that good in his hart; don't you see ?" 

I did n't see ; but I did n't say so. 

" Well," Joe pursued, " somebody must keep the pot a-biling, Pip, or the pot 
won't bile ; don't you know ? " 

I saw that, and said so. 

"Consequence: my father did n't make objections to my going to work: so I 
went to work at my present calling, which were his, too, if he would have followed 
it ; and I worked tolerable hard, I assure you. Pip. In time, I were able to keep 
him ; and! kep him till he went off in a purple leptic fit. And it were my intentions 
to have had put upon his tombstone that Whatsume'er the failings on his part, 
Remember, reader, he were that good in his hart." 

Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful perspicuity, that I 
asked him if he had made it himself. 

" I made it," said Joe, " my own self. I made it in a moment. It was like 
striking out a horse-shoe complete in a single blow. I never was so much sur- 
prised in all my life, — could n't credit my own ed: to tell you the truth, hardly 
believed it was my own ed. As I was saying, Pip, it were my intentions to have 
had it cut over him : but poetry costs money, cut it how you will, small or large ; 
and it were not done. Not to mention bearers, all the money that could be spared 
were wanted for my mother. She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She were 
n't long of following, poor soul; and her share of peace come round at last." 

Joe's blue eyes turned a little watery : he rubbed first one of them, and then 
he other, in a most uncongenial and uncomfortable manner, with the round knob 
on the top of the poker. 

" It were but lonesome then," said Joe, " living here alone, and I got acquainted 
trith your sister. Now, Pip," Joe looked firmly at me, as if he knew I was not 
going to agree with him, " your sister is a fine figure of a woman." 
I could not help looking at the fire in an obvious state of doubt. 

" Whatever family opinions, or whatever the world's opinions on that subject 
may be. Pip, your sister is" — Joe tapped the top bar with the poker after every 
ivord following — "a — fine — figure — of — a — woman ! " 

I could think of nothing better to say than " I am glad you think so, Jod." 
" So am I," returned Joe, catching me up. '' I am glad I think so, Pip. A little 
redness, or a little matter of bone here or there, — what does it signify to me ?" 
I sagaciously observed, if it did n't signify to him, to whom did it signify ? 
" Certainly I " assented Joe. " That 's it. You 're right, old chap I When I 
got acquainted with your sister, it were the talk how she was bringing you up by 



€ffteat I5j:pectatfon». 429 

hand. Very kind of her, too, all the folks said, and I said along with all the 
folks. As to you," Joe pursued with a countenance expressive of seeing some- 
thing very nasty indeed, " if you could have been aware how small and flabby and 
mean you was, — dear me, you 'd have formed the most contemptible opinions of 
yourself! " 

Not exactly relishing this, I said, " Never mind me, Joe." 

"But I did mind you, Pip," he returned with tender simplicity. "When I 
offered to your sister to keep company, and to be asked in church at such times 
as she was willing and ready to come to the forge, I said to her, ' And bring the 
poor little child. God bless the poor little child 1 ' I said to your sister : ' there 's 
room for him at the forge.' " 

I broke out crying, and begging pardon, and hugged Joe round the neck, who 
dropped the poker to hug me, and to say, " Ever the best of friends ; an't us, Pip ? 
Don't cry, old chap I " 

When this little interruption was over, Joe resumed, — 

" Well, you see, Pip, and here we are I That 's about where it lights : here we 
are I Now, when you take me in hand in my learning, Pip (and I tell you before- 
hand I am awful dull, most awful dull), Mrs. Joe must n't see too much of what 
we 're up to. It must be done, as I may say, on the sly. And why on the sly ? 
I '11 tell you why, Pip." 

He had taken up the poker again, without which, I doubt if he could have pro- 
ceeded in his demonstration. 

" Your sister is given to government." 

"Given to government, Joe?" I was startled; fori had some shadowy idea 
(and I am afraid I must add hope) that Joe had divorced her in favor of the lords 
of the admiralty or treasury. 

"Given to government," said Joe, — "Which I meantersay the government 
of you and myself." 

"Oh I" 

"And she an't over-partial to having scholars on the premises," Joe contin- 
ued, " and in partikler would not be over-partial to my being a scholar, for fear as 
I might rise, — like a sort of rebel ; don't you see ? " 

I was going to retort with an inquiry, and had got so far as "Why" — when 
Joe stopped me. 

" Stay a bit. I know what you 're going to say, Pip : stay a bit I I don't deny 
that your sister comes the Mogul over us now and again. I don't deny that she 
do throw us falls, and that she do drop down upon us heavy. At such times as 
your sister is on the ram-page, Pip," Joe sank his voice to a whisper, and glanced 
at the door, " candor compels fur to admit that she is a Buster." 

Joe pronounced this word as if it began with, at least, twelve capital B's. 

" Wliy don't I rise ? That were your observation when I broke it off, Pip ?" 

"Yes, Joe." 

" Well," said Joe, passing the poker into his left hand, that he might feel his 
whisker; and I had no hopeof him when he tookto that placid occupation : "your 
sister 's a master-mind, — a master-mind." 

"What's that?" I asked, in some hope of bringing him to a stand. But Joe 
was readier with his definition than I had expected, and completely stopped me by 
arguing circularly, and answering with a fixed look, "Her." 

" And I an't a master-mind," Joe resumed, when he had unfixed his look, and 
got back to his whisker. "And, last of all, Pip, — and this I want to say very 
serous to you, old chap, — I see so much in my poor mother of a woman drudging 
and slaving, and breaking her honest heart, and never getting no peace in her 



430 2^1)5 ©fcttens ©fctfonars. 

mortal days, that I 'm dead afeerd of going wrong in the way of not doing what 
's right by a woman ; and I 'd fur rather of the two go wrong the t'other way, 
and be a little ill-conwenienced myself. I wish it was only me that got put out, 
Pip; I wish there warn't no Tickler for you, old chap; I wish I could take it all 
on myself: but this is the up-and-down-and-straight on it, Pip ; and I hope you 
'11 overlook short-comings." 

After the death of his wife, Joe marries Biddy, a sweet-tempered 
woman, who makes him an excellent wife, and with whom he lives 
happily for many years, ever doing the duty that lies before him 
with a strong hand, a quiet tongue, and a gentle heart. (Ch. ii-vii, 
ix, X, xii-xx, xxvii, xxxv, Ivii-lix.) See Gargery, Mrs. Joe. 
Gargery, Mrs. Georgiana Maria, His wife ; sister to Pip, and 
a thorough shrew. 

My sister . . . was more than twenty years older than I, and had established 
a great reputation with herself and the neighbors because she had brought me 
up " by hand." Having at that time to find out for myself what the expression 
meant, and knowing her to have a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the 
habit of laying it upon her husband, as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe 
Gargery and I were both brought up by hand. 

She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general impres- 
sion that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. . . . 

With black hair and eyes [she] had such a prevailing redness of skin, that I 
sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible she washed herself with a 
nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall and bony, and almost always 
wore a coarse apron, fastened over her figure behind with two loops, and hav- 
ing a square, impregnable bit in front that was stuck full of pins and needles. 
She made it a powerful merit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, 
that she wore this apron so much. . . . 

Joe's forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of the 
dwellings in our country were — most of them — at that time. "When I ran home 
from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the 
kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and having confidence as such, Joe 
imparted a confidence to me the moment I raised the latch of the door, and 
peeped in at him opposite to it, sitting in the chimney-corner. 

"Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip; and she 's out 
now ; making it a baker's dozen." 

"Is she?" 

" Yes, Pip," said Joe: " and, what 's worse, she 's got Tickler with her." 

At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat round 
and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler was a wax-ended 
piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled frame. 

" She sat down," said Joe; '• and she got up; and she made a grab at Tickler; 
and she ram-paged out. That 's what she did," said Joe, slowly clearing the 
fire between the bars with the poker : " she ram-paged out, Pip." 

" Has she been gone long, Joe ? " I always treated him as a larger species of 
child, and as no more than my equal. 

" "Well," said Joe, looking up at the Dutch clock, " she 's been on the ram- 
page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She 's a-coming I Get behind the 
door, old chap, and have the jack-to A'el betwixt you." 

I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open, and 



^Kteat 35j:pectation». 43X 

finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, and applied 
Tickler to further investigation. She concluded by throwing me — I often served 
her as a connubial missile — at Joe, who, glad to get hold of me on any terms, 
passed me on into the chimney, and quietly fenced me there with his great 
legs. 

When Pip grows up, he goes out into the world, and his ex- 
periences of his sister's tender mercies come to an end ; but poor 
Joe continues to bear his cross with exemplary patience, until 
death relieves him of it by opening a grave for Mrs. Gargery. 

"She had been in one of her bad states — though they had got better, of late, 
rather than worse — for four days, when she came out of it in the evening, just 
at teatime, and said quite plainly, ' Joe.' As she had never said any word for a 
long while, I [Biddy] ran and fetched in Mr. Gargery from the forge. She 
made signs to me that she wanted him to sit down close to her, and wanted me 
to put her arms around his necli. So I put them round his neck and she laid 
her head down on his shoulder quite content and satisfied. And so she pres- 
ently said, 'Joe' again, and once, 'pardon,' and once, 'Pip.' And so she 
never lifted her head up any more; and it was just an hour later when we laid 
it down on her own bed, because we found she was gone." 

(Ch. ii, iv-vii, ix, x, xii-xviii, xxiv, xxv.) See Orlick, Dolge. 

Georgiana. A cousin of Mr. Pocket's, and a relative of Mrs. Havi- 
sham's ; an indigestive single woman, who calls her rigidity reli- 
gion, and her liver love. (Ch. xi, xxV, Ivii.) 

Havisham, Miss. Estella's foster-mother. In her youth she had 
been a beautiful heiress, and looked after as a great match. She 
was pursued in particular by a certain showy man (Compeyson), 
who professed to be devoted to her. 

She had not shown much susceptibility up to that time; but all she possessed 
certainly came out then, and she passionately loved him : there is no doubt that 
she perfectly idolized him. He practised on her affection in that systematic 
way, that he got great sums of money from her; and he induced her to buy her 
brother out of a share in the brewery (which had been weakly left him by his 
father), at an immense price, on the plea, that, when he was her husband, he 
must hold and manage it all. . . . The marriage-day was fixed, the wedding- 
dresses were bought, the wedding-tour was planned out, the wedding-guests 
were invited. The day came, but not the bridegroom. 

She received a letter from him, however, when she was dress- 
ing for church, that most heartlessly broke the marriage off. When 
she recovered from a bad illness that she had, she laid waste the 
whole place where she resided (Satis House), stopped all the clocks 
at twenty minutes to nine, — the time of her receiving the letter, — 
and never afterwards looked upon the light of day. Pip, who was 
invited to her house when a small boy, thus describes it and its 
inmate : — 



132 2C|)e UBictens 3Bfct(onat2. 

I entered . . . , and found myself in a pretty large room well lighted with 
wax-candles. No glimpse of daylight was to be seen in it. It was a dressing- 
room, as I supposed from the furniture; though much of it was of forms and 
uses then quite unknown to me. But prominent in it was a draped table with 
a gilded looking-glass ; and that I made out, at first sight, to be a fine lady's 
dressing-table. 

"Whether I should have made out this object so soon, if there had been no fine 
lady sitting at it, I cannot say. In an arm-chair, with an elbow resting on the 
table, and her head leaning on that hand, sat the strangest lady I have ever 
seen or shall ever see. 

She was dressed in rich materials, — satins and lace and silks, — all of white. 
Her shoes were white; and she had a long white veil dependent from her 
hair; and she had bridal flowers in her hair: but her hair was white. Some 
bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands; and some other jewels 
lay sparkling on the table. Dresses less splendid than the dress she wore, 
and half-packed trunks, were scattered about. She had not quite finished 
dressing; for she had but one shoe on (the other was on the table near her 
hand) ; her veil was but half-arranged, her watch and chain were not put 
on; and some lace for her bosom lay with those trinkets, and with her handker- 
chief and gloves, and some flowers, and a prayer-book, — all confusedly heaped 
about the looking-glass. 

It was not in the fif st minute that I saw all these things ; though I saw more 
of them in the first minute than might be supposed. But I saw that every thing 
within my view which ought to be white had been white long ago, and had lost 
its lustre, and was faded and yellow. I saw that the bride within the bridal 
dress had withered like the dress, and like the flowers, and had no brightness 
left but the brightness of her sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been put 
upon the rounded figure of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it 
now hung loose had shrunk to skin and bone. 

Filled with bitterness towards all mankind, Miss Havisham 
adopts a beautiful orphan-girl (Estella), and rears her in the midst 
of all this desolation, educating her to steel her heart against all 
tenderness, but to lead young men on to love her, that she may 
break their hearts. (Ch. viii, ix, xi-xiv, xix, xxii, xxix, xxxviii, 
xliv, xlix, Ivii.) See Estella. 

"'Satis House,' the residence of Miss Havisham, lies a little to the west 
of Boley House, near Rochester, and derived its peculiar name from the fact of 
Eichard Watts entertaining Queen Elizabeth in it, when on her journey round 
the coast of Sussex and Kent, in 1573. Here she staid some days ; and, on her 
leaving, Watts apologized for the smallness of the house for so great a queen. 
She merely replied, ' Satis,'' signifying she was well content with her accommo- 
dation."— Botten's Lifeof Dickens, p. 264. 

Hubble, Mr. A wheelwright, who is a friend of Mrs. Joe Gar- 
gery's ; a tough, high-shouldered, stooping old man, of a sawdusty 
fragrance, with his legs extraordinarily wide apart. (Ch. iv, v 

XXXV.) 

Hubble, Mrs. His wife ; a little, sharp-eared person, who holds 



©reat Expectations. 433 

a conventionally juvenile position, because she married Mr. Hubble 
when she was much younger than he. (Ch. iv, v, xxxv.) 

Jack. A grizzled, slimy man, with a slushy voice, who is employed 
on a little causeway on the Thames. (Ch. liv.) 

Jaggers, Mr. A criminal lawyer of Little Britain, employed by 
Pip's unknown patron to inform him of his " great expectations," 
and to act as his guardian until he comes into full possession of his 
fortune. 

He was a burly man of an exceedingly dark complexion, with an exceedingly 
large head and a correspondingly large hand. . . . He was prematurely bald 
on the top of his head, and had bushy, black eyebrows that would n't lie down, 
but siood up bristling. His eyes were set very deep in his head, and were dis- 
agreeably sharp and suspicious. He had a very large watch-chain, and very 
strong black dots where his beard and whiskers would have been if he had let 
them. 

Mr. Jaggers has an air of authority that is not to be disputed, 
and a manner expressive of knowing something secret about every- 
body that would effectually do for each individual, if he chose to 
disclose it. His clerk tells Pip that it always seems to him as if his 
master had set a man-trap, and was watching it. When be is not 
biting his large forefinger, he is in the habit of throwing it, in a half- 
bullying sort of way, at the person he is talking with. He never 
laughs ; but he wears great bright creaking boots, and in poising 
himself on these, with his large head bent down, and his eyebrows 
joined together, awaiting an answer, he sometimes causes the boots 
to creak as if they laughed in a dry and suspicious way. (Ch. xi, 
xviii, XX, xxi, xxiv, xxvi, xxix, xxxvi, xl, xlviii, xlix, li, Ivi.) 
Magwitch, Abel, alias Pro vis. A convict who escapes from the 
Hulks, and, meeting Pip, terrifies the boy into supplying him with 
food and a file to enable him to file off his fetters. Though very soon 
captured, and transported to New South Wales, he retains a grateful 
remembrance of Pip, and after some years, growing wealthy in the 
business of sheep-farming, sets him up as a gentleman, making Mr. 
Jaggers his guardian and banker. He does this privately, however ; 
and Pip supposes himself to be indebted to ^liss Havisham for his 
good fortune, — a mistake which that lady, for reasons of her own, 
does not trouble herself to correct. Magwitch at last returns tq 
England under the assumed name of Provis, and makes himself 
known to Pip, who endeavors to save his benefactor from recapture, 
but in vain. In spite of every precaution, Magwitch is discovered 
37 



434 S!)e ©icltens Bictfonat^. 

and taken ; but he dies in prison, and thus escapes execution. (Ch. 

i, iii, V, xxxix-xlii, xlvi, liv-lvi.) 
Mary Anne. A neat little girl who is Wemmick's servant. (Ch. 

XXV, xlv.) 
Mike. A one-eyed client of Mr. Jaggers. (Ch. xx, Ji.) 
Millers. A nurse in Mr. Pocket's family. (Ch. xxii, xxiii.) 
Molly. Mr. Jaggers's house-keeper, and a former mistress of Abel 

Magwitch, by whom she is the mother of Estella. (Ch. xxiv, xxvi.) 

Rather tall, of a lithe, nimble figure, extremely pale, with large blue eye3 
and a quantity of streaming light hair. I cannot say whether any diseased 
affection of the heart caused her lips to be parted as if she were panting, and 
her face to bear a curious expression of suddenness and flutter ; but I know 
that I had been to see Macbeth at the theatre a night or two before, and that 
her face looked to me as if it were all disturbed by fiery air, like the faces I had 
seen rise out of the caldron. 

Orlick, Dolge. A journeyman employed by Joe Gargery. He 

secretly strikes a blow, which results in the death of Mrs. Gargery ; 

and he afterwa ds attempts the life of Pip. (Ch. xv-xvii, xxix, 

XXX, liii.) 

He was a broad-shouldered, loose-limbed, swarthy fellow, of great strength, 
never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even seemed to come to his 
work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by mere accident; and when he went 
to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his dinner, or went away at night, he would 
slouch out like Cain or the "Wandering Jew, — as if he had no idea where he was 
going, and no intention of ever coming back. He lodged at a sluice-keeper's, 
out on the marshes, and on working-days would come slouching from his her- 
mitage, with his hands in his pocket, and his dinner loosely tied in a bundle 
round his neck, and dangling on his back. On Sundays, he mostly lay all day on 
sluice-gates, or stood against ricks or barns. He always slouched, locomotively, 
with his eyes on the ground ; and when accosted, or otherwise required to raise 
them, he looked up in a half-resentful, half-puzzled way, as though the only 
thought he ever had was, that it was rather an odd and injurious fact that he 
should never be thinking. 

Pepper, called The Avenger. Pip's boy. (Ch. xxvii.) 

I got on so fast, of late, that I had even started a boy in boots, — top-boots, — 
in bondage and slavery to whom I might have been said to pass my days. For 
after I had made my monster (out of the refuse of my washerwoman's family), 
and had clothed him with a blue coat, canary waistcoat, white cravat, creamy 
breeches, and the boots already mentioned, I had to find him a little to do and a 
great deal to eat ; and with both of those horrible requirements he haunted my 
existence. 

Pip. See PiRRip, Philip. 

Pirrip, Philip, called Pip. The narrator and the hero of the story ; 
^' a good fellow, with impetuosity and hesitation, boldness and diffi* 
depce, action and dreaming, curiously mixed in him." 



©freat Hppectati'ons. 435 

My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my 
Infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip : 
60 I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip. 

His father and mother being dead, Pip is brought up " by hand " 
by his sister, JMrs. Joe Gargery, who is more than twenty years 
older than himself. She is something of a shrew, and does not 
treat him very kindly; but her husband, being a fellow-suflferer, 
makes an equal and companion of him, and they are " ever the 
best of friends." Wlien Pip is old enough, he is apprenticed to Joe 
to learn the blacksmith's trade ; but, before he is out of his time, he 
is informed, that, through the generosity of an unknown friend, he 
will one day come into a handsome property ; and in accordance 
with the wish of his benefactor he removes to London to be brousrht 
up as a gentleman. Elated by his good fortune, he looks down upon the 
humble friends of his earlier days, and treats them with condescending 
kindness when he sees them, which is but seldom. At last, to his 
astonishment and disgust, he discovers his patron to be a convict for 
whom he had done a favor when a child. Transported for crime, 
this man (Abel Magwitch) has retained a grateful sense of the kind- 
ness Pip had shown him, and, accumulating wealth, has determined 
to educate and provide for him, and ultimately to make him his heir. 
Though sentenced for life, such is his desire to see the gentleman he 
has made, that he runs the risk of detection, returns to England, 
makes himself known to Pip, and avows himself his benefactor. 
This declaration is a staggering blow to Pip, who has always sup- 
posed himself to be a protege of Miss Havi sham's, and the intended 
husband of her adopted daughter, Estella, with whom he is deeply in 
love. The young lady, however, is married to another ; and, to add 
to his troubles, Magwitch is recognized, denounced, arrested, tried, 
and sentenced to death. Fortunately for himself, he dies in prison 
before the day of execution arrives. His possessions being, under the 
law, forfeited to the crown, Pip finds himself suddenly reduced to 
poverty, and arrested for debt. He is on the point of being thrown 
into jail, when he is seized with a malignant fever, becomes delirious, 
and suffers greatly. When he begins to recover, he flods his old 
friend Joe by his bedside. 

After I had turned the worst point of my Illness, I began to notice, that, while 
all its other features changed, this one consistent feature did not change. Whoever 
came about me still settled down into Joe. I opened my eyes in the night, and I 
saw in the great chair at the bedside Joe. I opened my eyes in the day, and siti 
ting on the window-seat, smoking his pipe in the shaded open window, still I saw 
Joe. I asked for cooling drink, and the dear hand that gave it roe waa jQe'§, I 



436 ffi^l)^ ISicfeens Sfctionarj. 

sank back on my pillow after drinking, and the face that looked so hopefully 
and tenderly upon me was the face of Joe. 

At last, one day, I took courage, and said, " Is it Joe ? " 
And the dear old home-voice answered, " Which it air, old chap." 
" O Joe I you break my heart. Look angry at me, Joe. Strike me, Joe. Tell 
me of my ingratitude. Don't be so good to me I " 

For Joe had actually laid his head down on the pillow at my side, and put 
his arm round my neck, in his joy that I knew him. 

"Which dear old Pip, old chap," said Joe, "you and me was ever friends. 
And when you 're well enough to go out for a ride — what larks I " 

After which, Joe withdrew to the window, and stood with his back toward 
me, wiping his eyes. And, as my extreme weakness prevented me from get- 
ting up and going to him, I lay there, penitently whispering, " O God, bless 
him I O God, bless this gentle Christian man I " 

When he gets about again, Pip sells all he has, puts aside as 
much as he can for a composition with his creditors, becomes 
a clerk, and, after some years, a partner, in the house of Clarriker 
& Co., and finally marries Estella, who has been left a widow, and 
•whom suffering has bent and broken into a better than her former 
shape. 
Pocket, Herbert. A son of Matthew Pocket's, who becomes a 
warm friend of Pip's. He has " great expectations " as well as 
Pip, whom he quite astonishes with the grandeur of his ideas and 
his plans for making money. 

We were very gay and sociable; and I asked him, in the course of conversa- 
tion, what he was. He replied, " A capitalist, an insurer of ships." . . . 

I had grand ideas of the wealth and importance of insurers of ships in 
the city, .... But, . . . there came upon me, for my relief, that odd impres- 
sion that Herbert Pocket would never be very successful or rich. 

"I shall not rest satisfied with merely employing my capital in insuring 
ships : I shall buy up some good life-assurance shares, and cut into the Direc- 
tion. I shall also do a little in the mining way. None of these things will 
interfere with my chartering a few thousand tons on my own account. I think 
I shall trade," said he, leaning back in his chair, " to the East Indies for silks, 
shawls, spices, dyes, drugs, and precious woods. It 's an interesting trade." 

" And the profits are large ? " said I. 

" Tremendous I " said he. 

I wavered again, and began to think here were greater expectations than 
my own. 

" I think I shall trade also," said he, puttmg his thumbs in his waistcoat 
pockets, '• to the West Indies for sugar, tobacco, and rum. Also to Ceylon spe- 
cially for elephants' tusks." 

" You will want a good many ships," said I. 

" A perfect fleet," said he. 

Quite overpowered by the magnificence of these transactions, I asked him 
where the ships he insured mostly traded to at present. 

" J hftve o't begun insuring yet," he replied. " I am looking about me." 



ffifrcat 3S):pectations. 437 

Somehow, that pursuit seemed more in keeping with Barnard's Inn. I said 
(in a tone of con^ iction), " Ah-h I " 

" Yes. I am in a counting-house, and looking about me." 

" Is a counting-house profitable ? " I asked. 

" To — do you mean to the young fellow who 's in it ? " he asked in reply. 

*' Yes : to you." 

^' Why, n-no ; not to me." He said this with the air of one carefully reckoning 
np, and striking a balance. " Not directly profitable. That is, it does n't pay me 
any thing, and I have to — keep myself." 

This, certainly, had not a profitable appearance, and I shook my head as if I 
would imply that it would be difficult to lay by much accumulative capital from 
such a source of income. 

" But the thing is," said Herbert Pocket, " that you look about you. That '5 the 
grand thing. You are in a counting-house, you know, and you look about you." 

It struck me as a singular implication that you could n't be out of a counting- 
house, you know, and look about you ; but I sUently deferred to his experience. 

" Then the time comes," said Herbert, " when you see your opening. And 
you go in, and you swoop upon it, and you make your capital, and then there 
you are 1 When you have once made your capital, you have nothing to do but 
employ it." 

Pip's lavish habits lead Herbert into expenses that he cannot 
afford, corrupt the simplicity of his life, and disturb his peace with 
anxieties and regrets. 

At Startop's suggestion, we put ourselves down for election into a club called 
" The Finches of the Grove ; " the object of which institution I have never divined, 
if it were not that the members should dine expensively once a fortnight, to quar- 
rel among themselves as much as possible after dinner, and to cause six waiters to 
get drunk on the stairs. I know that these gratifying social ends were so invari- 
ably accomplished, that Herbert and I understood nothing else to be" referred to 
in the first standing toast of the society, which ran, " Gentlemen, may the pres- 
ent promotion of good feeling ever reign predominant among the Finches of the 
Grove I " ... 

In my confidence in my own resources, I would willingly have taken Herbert's 
expenses on myself; but Herbert was proud, and I could make no such proposal 
to him : so he got into difficulties in every direction, and continued to look about 
him. When we gradually fell into keeping late hours and late company, I noticed 
that he looked about him with a despondent eye at breakfast-time ; that he began 
to look about him more hopelessly about mid-day ; that he drooped when he came 
in to dinner; that he seemed to descry capital in the distance, rather clearly, after 
dinner; that he all but realized capital, and banked it toward midnight ; and that, 
at about two o'clock in the morning, he became so deeply despondent again as to 
talk of buying a rifle, and going to America, with a general purpose of compelling 
bufialoes to make his fortune. . . . 

We spent as much money as we could, and got as little for it as people could 
make up their minds to give us. We were always more or less miserable ; and 
most of our acquaintance were in the same condition. There was a gay fiction 
among us that we were constantly enjoying ourselves, and a skeleton truth that 
we never did. To the best of my belief our case was, in the last aspect, a rather 
common one. 

At certain times, — meaning at uncertain times ; for they depended on our 
humor, — I would say to Herbert, as if it were a remarkable discovery, — 
37* 



438 S^i)e ©icftens ISfctionarg. 

" My dear Herbert, we are getting on badly." 

*' My dear Handel," Herbert would say to me in all sincerity, " if you will 
believe me, those very words were on my lips by a strange coincidence." 

" Then, Herbert," I would respond, '■' let us look into our affairs." 

We always derived profound satisfaction from making an appointment for 
this purpose. I always thought myself, this was business, this was the way to 
confront the thing, this was the way to take the foe by the throat. And I know 
Herbert thought so too. 

We generally ordered something rather special for dinner, with a bottle of 
something similarly out of the common way, in order that our minds might be 
fortified for the occasion, and we might come well up to the mark. Dinner 
over, we produced a bundle of pens, a copious supply of ink, and a goodly show 
of writing and blotting paper; for there was something very comfortable in 
having plenty of stationery. 

I would then take a sheet of paper, and write across the top of it, in a neat 
hand, the heading, " Memorandum of Pip's Debts," with Barnard's Inn and 
the date very carefully added. Herbert would also take a sheet of paper, and 
write across it, with similar formalities, " Memorandum of Herbert's Debts." 

Each of us would then refer to a confused heap of papers at his side, which 
had been thrown into drawers, worn into holes in pockets, half-burned in light- 
ing candles, stuck for weeks into the looking-glass, and otherwise damaged. 
The sound of our pens going refreshed us exceedingly, insomuch that I some- 
times found it difficult to distinguish between this edifying business-proceeding 
and actually paying the money. In point of meritorious character, the two 
things seemed about equal. . . . 

When I had got all my responsibilities down upon my list, I compared each 
with the bill, and ticked it off. My self-approval when I ticked an entry was 
almost a luxurious sensation. When I had no more ticks to make, I folded all 
my bills up uniformly, docketed each on the back, and tied the whole into a 
symmetrical bundle. Then I did the same for Herbert (who modestly said he 
had not my administrative genius), and felt that I had brought his affairs 
into a focus for him. 

My business-habits had one other bright feature, which I called *' leaving a 
margin." For example; supposing Herbert's debts to be one hundred and 
sixty-four pounds four and twopence, I would say, " Lea^ve a margin, and put 
them down at two hundred." Or, supposing my own to be four times as much, 
I would leave a margin, and put them down at seven hundred. I had the high- 
est opinion of the wisdom and prudence of this same margin ; but I am bound 
to acknowledge, that, on looking back, I deem it to have been an expensive 
device ; for we always ran into new debt immediately, to the full extent of the 
margin, and sometimes, in the sense of freedom and solvency it imparted, got 
pretty far ou into another margin. 

At a later date, Herbert becomes a partner in the house of Clar- 
riker & Co., through the kind assistance of Pip, which is secretly 
rendered, and is not discovered for many a year. He marries 
Clara Barley. (Ch. xi, xxi-xxviii, xxx, xxxi, xxxiv, xxxvi-xlii, 
xlv-xlvii, xlix, 1, lii-lv, Iviii.) 
Pocket, Alick. One of Mr. Pocket's children, who makes ar- 
rangements, while still wearing a frock, for being married to a 
suitable young person at Kew. (Ch. xxii, xxiii.) 



©teat lB):pectatfons. 439 

Pocket, Jane. A little daughter of Mr. Pocket's ; a mere mite, 
who has prematurely taken upon herself some charge of the oth- 
ers. Her desire to be matrimonially established is so strong, that 
she might be supposed to have passed her short existence in the 
perpetual contemplation of domestic bliss. (Ch. xxii, xxiii.) 

Pocket, Joe. Another child. (Ch. xxiii.) 

Pocket, Fanny. Another child. (Ch. xxiii.) 

Pocket, Mr. Matthew. A relative of Miss Havisham's, living 
at Hammersmith, with whom Pip studies for a time. He is a gen- 
tleman with a rather perplexed expression of face, and with his hair 
disordered on his head, as if he did n't quite see his way to putting 
any thing straight. (Ch. xxii-xxiv, xxxiii, xxxix.) 

By degrees I learned, and chiefly from Herbert, that Mr. Pocket had been 
educated at Harrow a^d at Cambridge, where he had distinguished himself; 
but tliat, wlien he had had the happiness of marrying Mrs. Pocket very early 
in life, he had impaii-ed his prospects, and taken up the calling of a grinder. 
After grinding a number of dull blades (of whom it was remarkable that their 
fathers, when influential, were always going to help him to preferment, but 
always forgot to do it when the blades had left the grindstone), he had wearied 
of that poor work, and come to London. Here, after gradually failing in 
loftier hopes, he had " read " with divers who had lacked opportunities, or 
neglected them, and had refurbished divers others for special occasions, and 
had turned his acquirements to the account of literary compilation and correc- 
tion, and on such means, added to some very moderate private resources, still 
maintained the house I saw. 

pocket, Mrs. Belinda. His wife. (Ch. xxii, xxiii, xxxiii.) 

Mrs. Pocket was the only daughter of a certain quite accidental deceased 
knight, who had invented for himself a conviction that his deceased father 
would have been made a baronet, but for somebody's determined opposition, 
arising out of entirely personal motives (I forget whose, if I ever knew, — 
the sovereign's, the prime-minister's, the lord-chancellor's, the Archbishop of 
Canterbury's, anybody's), and had tacked himself on the nobles of the earth 
in right of this quite supposititious fact. I believe he had been knighted him- 
self for storming the English grammar at the point of a pen in a desperate 
address, engrossed on vellum, on the occasion of the laying of the flrst stone of 
some building or other, and handing some royal personage either the trowel or 
the mortar. Be that as it may, he had directed Mrs. Pocket to be brought up 
from her cradle as one, who, in the nature of things, must marry a title, and 
who was to be guarded from the acquisition of plebeian domestic knowledge. 
So successful a watch and ward had been established over the young lady by 
this judicious parent, that she had grown up highly ornamental, but perfectly 
helpless and useless. With her character thus happily formed, in the flrst bloom 
of her youth she had encountered Mr. Pocket, who was also in the first bloom 
of youth, and not quite decided whether to mount to the woolsack, or to roof 
himself in with a mitre. As his doing tlie one or the other was a mere question 
of time, he and Mrs. Pocket had taken time by the forelock (at a season when, 



440 2r!)e Bicltens 33icUonax^. 

to judge from Its length, it would seem to have wanted cutting), and had mar- 
ried without the knowledge of the judicious parent. The judicious parent, 
having nothing to bestow or withhold but his blessing, had handsomely settled 
that dower upon them after a short struggle, and had informed Mr. Pocket that 
his wife was "a treasure for a prince." Mr. Pocket had invested the prince's 
treasure in the ways of the world ever since; and it was supposed to have 
brought him in but indifferent interest. Still, Mrs. Pocket was, in general, the 
object of a queer sort of respectful pity, because she had not married a title; 
while Mr. Pocket was the object of a queer sort of' respectful reproach, because 
he had never got one. 

Pocket, Sarah. A relative of Miss Havisham ; a little, dry, 
brown, corrugated old woman, with a blandly-vicious manner, a 
small face that might have been made of walnut-shells, and a large 
mouth like a cat's, without the whiskers. (Ch. xi, xv, xix, xxix.) 

Potkins, "William. A waiter at the Blue Boar. (Ch. Iviii.) 

Provis. See Magwitch, Abel. 

Pumblechook, Uncle. A well-to-do corn-chandler and seeds- 
man ; uncle to Joe Gargery, but appropriated by Mrs. Joe. He is 
a large, hard-breathing, middle-aged slow man, with a mouth like a 
fish, dull, staring eyes, and sandy hair standing upright on his 
head ; so that he looks as if he had been choked, and had just come 
to. Pumblechook is the torment of Pip's life. While a mere 
boy, the bullying old fellow is in the habit of coming to Mrs. Gar- 
gery 's house, where Pip lives, and discussing his character and 
prospects; but this he can never do without having the child 
before him to operate on. 

He would drag me up from my stool (usually by the collar) when I was 
quiet in a corner, and putting me before the fire, as if I were going to be cooked, 
would begin by sajing, " Now, mum, here is this boy, — here is this boy which 
you brought up by hand. Hold up your head, boy, and be for ever grateful unto 
them which so did do. Now, mum, with respections to this boy." And then 
he would rumple my hair the wrong way (which, from my earliest remem- 
brance, . . . I have in my soul denied the right of any fellow-creature to do), and 
would hold me before him by the sleeve, a spectacle of imbecility only to be 
equalled by himself. 

When Pip comes, most unexpectedly, into property and " great 
expectations," and is about departing for London, the obsequious- 
ness of Pumblechook is equal to his former assumption of au- 
thority. 

" My dear friend," said Mr. Pumblechook, taking me by both hands, ..." I 
give you joy of your good fortune. Well deserved, well deserved I " 

This was coming to the point ; and I thought it a sensible way of expressing 
himself. 

" To think," said Mr. Pumblechook, after snorting admiration at me for somt 



CSreat 3S):pectatfonH. 441 

moments, " that I should have been the humble instrument of leading up to this, is 
a proud reward." 

I begged Mr. Pumblechook to remember that nothing was to be ever said or 
hinted on that point. 

"■ My dear young friend," said Mr. Pumblechook, " if you will allow me to caU 
you so " — 

I murmured, ''Certainly;" and Mr. Pumblechook took me by both hands again, 
and communicated a movement to his waistcoat, that had an emotional appear- 
ance, though it was rather low down. " My dear young friend, rely upon my 
doing my little all in your absence, by keeping the fact before the mind of Joseph. 
Joseph I " said Mr. Pumblechook, in the way of a compassionate adjuration. 
"Joseph, Joseph 1" Thereupon he shook his head and tapped it, expressing hii 
sense of deficiency in Joseph. 

" But my dear young friend," said Mr. Pumblechook, " you must be hungry, you 
must be exhausted. Be seated. Here is a chicken had round from tlie Boar ; here 
is a tongue had round from the Boar; here 's one or two little things that I hope 
you may not despise. But do I," said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again the 
moment after he had sat down, " see afore me him as I ever sported within his 
times of happy infancy ? And may I, may I ? " — 

This " may I " meant, might he shake hands ? I consented ; and he was fervent, 
and then sat down again. 

'• Here is wine," said Mr. Pumblecliook. "Let us drink, 'Thanks to Fortune; 
and may she ever pick out her favorites with equal judgment I ' And yet I can- 
not," said Jlr. Pumblechook, getting up again, " see afore me one, and likewayS 
drink to one, without again expressing — May I, may I ? " — 

I said he might; and he shook hands with me again, and emptied his glass and 
turned it upside down. 

When Pip is reduced to poverty by the death of his patron, Mr. 
Pumblechook again changes his manner and conduct, becoming as 
ostentatiously compassionate and forgiving as he had been meanly 
servile in the time of Pip's new prosperity. 

"Young man, I am sorry to see you brought low; but what else could be 
expected ? What else could be expected ? . . . 

" This is him ... as I have rode in my shay-cart; this is him as I have seen 
brought up by hand; this is him untoe the sister of which I was uncle by mar- 
riage, as her name was Georgiana M'ria, from her own mother. Let him deny it 
if he can I . . . 

" Young man," said Pumblechook, vscrewing his head at me in the old fashion, 
" you air a-going to Joseph. What does it matter to me, you ask me, where you 
air a-going? I say to you, sir, you air a-going to Joseph. . . . Now I will tell 
you what to say to Joseph. . . . Says you, ' Joseph, I have this day seen my ear- 
liest benefactor and the founder of my fortun's. I will name no names, Joseph; 
but so they are pleased to call him up town : and I have seen that man.' " 

" I swear I don't ses him here," said L 

"Say that, likewise," retorted Pumblechook. "Say you said that; and even 
Joseph will probably betray surprise." 

" There you quite mistake him," said I. " I know better." 

" Says you," Pumblechook went on, " ' Joseph, I have seen that man; and that 
man bears you no malice, and bears me no malice. He knows your character, 
Joseph, and is well acquainted with your pig-headedness and ignorance ; and h« 



442 2E!)e IBfcfeens Bfctfonars. 

knows* my character, Joseph, and he knows my want of gratitoode. Yes, 
Joseph,' says you,* — here Pumblechook shook his head and hand at me, — " ' he 
knows my total deficiency of common human gratitoode. Be knows it, Joseph, 
as none can. Tou do not know it, Joseph, having no call to know it; but that 
man do.' " 

Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have the face to 
talk thus to mine. 

" Says you, 'Joseph, he gave me a little message, which I will now repeat. 
It was, that, in my being brought low, he saw the finger of Providence. He 
knowed that finger when he saw it, Joseph ; and he saw it plain. It pinted out 
this writing, Joseph : lieward of ingratitoode to his earliest benefactor, and 
founder of fortunes. But that man said that he did not repent of what he had 
done, Joseph. Not at all. It was right to do it, it was kind to do it, it was 
benevolent to do it; and he would do it again.' " 
(Ch. iv-ix, xiii, xv, xix, xxxv, Iviii.) 

SkiflB.ns, Miss. A lady of an uncertain age and a wooden 
appearance, but " a very good sort of fellow." She stands pos- 
sessed of " portable property," which is So strong a recommendation 
in the eyes of Mr. Wemmick, that he makes her his wife. (Ch. 
xxxvii, Iv.) 

^ophia. A housemaid in Mr. Pocket's service. (Ch. xxiii.) 

Spider, The. See Drummle, Bentley. 

Startop, Mr. A lively, bright young man, with a woman's deli- 
cacy of feature, who is a fellow-boarder with Pip at Mr. Pocket's. 
(Ch. xxiii, XXV, xxvi, xxxiv, lii-liv.) 

Trabb, Mr. A prosperous old bachelor, who is a tailor and an un- 
dertaker in the quiet old town where Pip lives during his boyhood. 
(Ch. xix, xxxv.) 

He has a shop-boy who is one of the most audacious young fel- 
lows in all that country-side. ^Vhen Pip comes into a handsome 
property, and people stare after him, and are excessively polite if 
he happens to speak to them, the only effect upon Trabb's boy is, 
to make him more independent and impudent than before. As Pip 
is returning, on one occasion, to the Blue Boar from Satis House, 
to take the coach back to London, fate throws him in the way of 
" that unlimited miscreant.'* 

Casting my eyes along the street at a certain point of my progress, I beheld 
Trabb's boy approaching, lashing himself with an empty blue bag. Deeming 
that a serene and unconscious contemplation of him would best beseem me, 
and would be most likely to quell his evil mind, I advanced with that expres- 
sion of countenance, and was rather congratulating myself on my success, 
when suddenly the knees of Trabb's boy smote together; his hair uprose; his 
cap fell off; he trembled violently in every limb, staggered out in the road, and 
crying to the populace, " Hold me I 1 'm so frightened I " feigned to be in a par- 
oxysm of terror and contrition, occasioned by the dignity of my appearance 



©rceat lS):pectatfotts. 443 

As I passed him, his teeth loudly chattered in his head ; and, with every mark 
of extreme humiliation, he prostrated himself in the dust. 

This was a hard thing to bear ; but this was nothing. I had not advanced 
another two hundred yards, when to my inexpressible terror, amazement, and 
indignation, I again beheld Trabb's boy approaching. He was coming round a 
narrow corner. His blue bag was slung over his shoulder; honest industrj 
beamed in his eyes ; a determination to proceed to Trabb's with cheerful brisk- 
ness was indicated in his gait. With a shock he became aware of me, and was 
severely visited as before; but this time his motion was rotatory, and he stag- 
gered round and round me with knees more afflicted, and with uplifted hands, 
as if beseecliing for mercy. His sufferings were hailed with the greatest joy by 
a knot of spectators; and I felt utterly confounded. 

I had not got as much farther down the street as the post-office when I 
again beheld Trabb's boy shooting round by a back-way. This time, he was 
entirely changed. He wore the blue bag in the manner of my great-coat, and 
was strutting along the pavement toward me on the opposite side of the street, 
attended by a company of delighted young friends, to whom he from time to 
time- exclaimed, with a wave of his hand, " Don't know yah ! " Words cannot 
state the amount of aggravation and injury wreaked upon me by Trabb's boy, 
when, passing abreast of me, he pulled up his shirt-collar, twined his side-hair, 
stuck an arm akimbo, and smirked extravagantly by, wriggling his elbows and 
body, and drawling to his attendants, '• Don't know yah; don't know yah; 'pon 
my soul, don't know yah I " The disgrace attendant on his immediately after- 
ward taking to crowing, and pursuing me across the bridge with crows as from 
an exceedingly dejected fowl who had known me when I was a blacksmith, cul- 
minated the disgrace with which I left the town, and was, so to speak, ejected 
by it into the open country. (Ch. xxx.) 

Waldengarver, Mr. See Wopsle, Mr. 

Wemmick, Mr. John. Mr. Jaggers's confidential clerk. He is 
a dry man, rather short in stature, with a square wooden face, 
whose expression seems to have been imperfectly chipped out with 
a dull-edged chisel. He has glittering eyes, — small, keen, and 
black, — and thin, white mottled lips, and has had them, apparently, 
from forty to fifty years. His guiding principle, and his invariable 
advice to his friends, is, to take care of portable property, and 
never on any account to lose an opportunity of securing it. Althoucrh 
his business relations to Mr. Jaggers are of the most intimate nature, 
their acquaintance and fellowship goes no further, and each pre- 
tends to the other that he is made of the sternest and flintiest stuff. 
But notwithstanding their hard exterior and their fear of showing 
themselves to one another in a weak and unprofessional light, they 
are kindly men at heart, — Wemmick especially, who has a pleas- 
ant home at Walworth, where he devotes himself to the comfort of 
his venerable father, and refreshes his business life in many pleas- 
ant and playful ways, the latest and most important of them beina 
the transformation of Miss Skifiins into Mrs. Wemmick. (Ch. xx^ 



444 Sr|)e Dfc&ens JBictionaxs- 

xxi, xxiv-xxvi, xxxii, xxxvi, xxxvii, xlv, xlviii, li, Iv.) See Skif- 

FiNS, Miss. 

The district of Walworth . . . appeared to be a collection of back lanes, 
ditches, and little gardens, and to present the aspect of a mighty dull retire- 
ment. Wemmick's house was a little wooden cottage in the midst of plots of 
garden ; and the top of it was cut out and painted like a battery mounted with 
guns. 

<' My own doing," said Wemmick. " Looks pretty ; don't it ? " 

I highly commended it. I think it was the smallest house I ever saw, with 
the queerest Gothic windows (by far the greater part of them sham), and a 
Gothic door, almost too small to get in at. 

"■ There 's a real flag-staff, you see," said Wemmick; " and on Sundays I run 
np a real flag. Then look here. After I have crossed this bridge, I hoist it up, 
— so, — and cut off the communication." 

The bridge was a plank; and it crossed a chasm about four feet wide and 
two deep. But it was very pleasant to see the pride with which he hoisted it 
up, and made it fast ; smiling, as he did so, with a relish, and not merely mechan- 
ically. 

" At nine o'clock every night, Greenwich time," said Wemmick, " the gun 
fires. There he is, you see; and, when you hear him go, I think you '11 say he 's 
a stinger.'^ 

The piece of ordnance referred to was mounted into a separate fortress 
lightly constructed of lattice-work. It was protected from the weather by an 
ingenious little tarpaulin contrivance in the nature of an umbrella. 

" Then, at the back," said Wemmick, " out of sight, so as not to impede the 
idea of fortifications — for it 's a principle with me, if you have an idea carry 
it out, and keep it up. I don't know whether that 's your opinion " — 

I said, " Decidedly." 

" At the back there 's a pig, and there are fowls and rabbits ; then I knock 
together my own little farm, you see, and grow cucumbers ; and you '11 judge at 
supper what sort of a salad I can raise. So, sir," said Wemmick, smiling 
again, but rather seriously too, " if you can suppose the little place besieged, it 
would hold out a devil of a time in point of provisions." 

Then he conducted me to a bower about a dozen yards off, but which was 
approached by such ingenious twists of path, that it took quite a long time to 
get at; and in this retreat our glasses were already set forth. Our punch was 
cooling in an ornamental lake, on whose margin the bower was raised. This 
piece of water (with an island in the middle, which might have been the salad 
for supper) was of a circular form ; and he had constructed a fountain in it, 
which, when you set a little mill going, and took a cork out of a pipe, played to 
that powerful extent that it made the back of your hand quite wet. 

" I am my own engineer, and my own carpenter, and my own plumber, and 
my own gardener, and my own 'Jack of all trades,'" said Wemmick in 
acknowledging my compliments. " Well, it 's a good thing, you know. It 
brushes the Newgate cobwebs away, and pleases the Aged." 

Wemmick, Mr., senior, called The Aged. Mr. John Wem- 
mick's father ; a veiy old man, clean, cheerful, comfortable, and 
well cared for, but intensely deaf. (Ch. xxv, xxxvii, xlv, xlviii, 11, 
Iv.) 



CKreat I5j:pectatfon». 445 

Wemmick, Mrs. See Skiffins, Miss. 

Whimple, Mrs. A lodging-house keeper at Mill Pond Bank, 

Chinks's Basin; an elderly woman of a pleasant and thriving 

appearance, who is the best of housewives. (Ch. xlvi.) 
William. See Potkins, William. 
Wopsle, Mr. A friend of Mrs. Joe Gargery's ; at first, parish 

clerk, afterwards an actor in London under the stage-name of Mr. 

Waldengarver. 

Mr. Wopsle, united to a Roman nose and a large bald forehead, had a deep 
sonorous voice, which he was proud of; indeed, it was understood among his 
acquaintance, that, if you could only give him his head, he would read the clergy- 
man into fits. He himself confessed, that if the Church was "thrown open," 
meaning to competition, he would not despair of making his mark in it. The 
Church not being "thrown open," he was, as I have said, our clerk. But he 
finished the amens tremendously ; and when he gave out the psalm, — always 
giving us the whole verse, — he looked all round the congregation first, as much 
as to say, " You have heard my friend overhead: oblige me with your opinion 
of this." 

His success as an actor is not particularly brilliant or encoura- 
ging. Pip and Herbert go to the small theatre where he is engaged, 
to witness his impersonation of Hamlet. 

Whenever that undecided prince had to ask a question or state a doubt, 
the public helped him out with it. As, for example, on the question, whether 
't was nobler in the mind to suffer, some roared, Yes ; and some. No ; and some, 
inclining to both opinions, said, " Toss up for it; " and quite a debating society 
arose. When he asked what should such fellows as he do crawling between 
earth and heaven, he was encouraged with loud cries of, " Hear, hear I " When 
he appeared with his stocking disordered (its disorder expressed, according 
to usage, by one very neat fold in the top, which I suppose to be always got up 
with a flat-iron), a conversation took place in the gallery respecting the paleness 
of his leg, and whether it was occasioned by the turn the ghost had given him. 
On his taking the recorders, — very like a little black flute that had just been 
played in the orchestra, and handed out at the door, — he was called upon, unani- 
mously, for " Rule Britannia." When he recommended the player not to saw the 
air thus, the sulky man said, " And don't you do it, neither: you're a deal 
worse than Mm ! " And I grieve to add, that peals of laughter greeted Mr. 
Wopsle on every one of these occasions. 

(Ch. iv-vii, X, xiii, xv, xviii, xxxi, xItU.) 
38 



446 8r!)e Bfckens Bfctfonars. 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS, 



Chapteb I. Pip, in the churchyard, is frightened by the appearance of a fearful man 
uith a great iron on his leg, who makes him promise to bring him, the next morning, a 
file and some food. — II. Pip, with some difficulty, conceals the food Mrs. Joe gives him for 
supper, and, early in the morning, robs the pantrj', and runs for the marshes. — III. Pip 
meets a convict, who is not the one he seeks, and afterwards finds the right one, who eagerly 
devours his food. — IV. Mrs. Joe's preparations for Christmas; Pip's suflferings during the 
Christmas dinner for fear his theft should be discovered ; Pip starts to run away, and runs 
into a party of soldiers at the door. — V. Joe mends a pair of handcuff's for the sergeant, and 
the party start in search of the escaped convicts on the marshes ; they find the two con- 
victs struggling together in a ditch, and Pip's convict claims to have taken and given up 
the other one; Pip's convict confesses to having stolen the food taken by Pip from Mrs. 
Gargery's pantry. — VI. Pip's fear of confessing to Joe. — VII. Pip's education is attended 
to, and he indites a letter to Joe ; Joe's delight at finding his name in print ; Joe's account of 
his father's goodness of heart, and of his marriage to Pip's sister; Pip goes to play at Miss 
Havisham's.— VIII. Pip breakfasts at Mr. Pumblechook's, and proceeds to Miss Havisham's, 
where he is received by Estella ; singular appearance of Miss Havisham, and of every 
thing around her; Estella and Pip play cards for Miss Havisham's amusenrent; Estella 
sends Pip home. — IX. Pip gives his sister and Pumblechook an account of Miss Havi- 
sham's and his visit there, the falsity of which he afterwards acknowledges to Joe. — 
X. Pip goes to " The Three Jolly Bargemen " to meet Joe, and sees there a stranger, by a 
sign from whom he knows he has seen his convict; the stranger gives Pip a shilling, 
wrapping it in two one-pound notes. —XI. Pip goes again to Miss Havisham's, and finds 
her friends have come to see her on her birthday; Pip meets the pale young man, who 
challenges him to fight, and, being victorious, he is rewarded by a kiss from Estella. — XII. 
Pip having grown old enough to be apprenticed to Joe, Miss Havisham sends for Joe, to 
whom she gives twenty-five guineas as a premium with Pip. — XIII. Joe gives the money 
to his wife, with a message from Miss Havisham, and Pip is " bound out of hand " by Mr. 
Pumblechook.— XIV. Pip desires to go and see Miss Havisham, and Joe gives him and 
Orlick a half-holiday. — XV. Orlick calls Mrs. Gargery names, and is beaten by Joe; 
Pip goes to Miss Havisham's in the hope of seeing Estella, but is disappointed ; Mrs. 
Gargery receives a severe injury from an unknown hand. — XVI. Pip forms a theory in 
regard to the assailant of his sister, and is surprised that she does not denounce Orlick. — 
XVII. Pip makes an annual visit to Miss Havisham on his birthday ; Pip expresses to Biddy, 
who has become Joe's housekeeper, his desire to be a gentleman.— XVIII. Mr. Wopsle, 
reading at "The Three Jolly Bargemen " the account of a murder, is cross-questioned 
by Mr. Jaggers ; Jaggers requests a private conference with Joe and Pip, and informs them 
that Pip has Geeat Expectatioks, and must henceforth be brought up as a gentleman ; 
Jaggers informs them that the conditions imposed are, that Pip shall always bear that 
name, and that he is never to ask or seek to know the name of his benefactor; Jaggers ad 
vises Pip what to do, and offers Joe compensation for the loss of Pip's time, which he re 
fuses ; Joe tells the news at home. —XIX. Biddy gives Pip her idea of good manners ; Pip 
waits upon Mr. Trabb, and orders his new clothes; Mr. Pumblechook entertains Pip, and 
congratulates him on his good fortune, of which he claims to be the instrument; Pip 
takes a flna' leave of Miss Havisham; Pip starts on his journey to London. —XX. 
Arriving in London, Pip calls on Mr. Jaggers, and witnesses that gentleman's manner 
of bullying his clients; Wemmick accompanies Pip from Jaggers's office to young Mr. 
Pocket's. — XXI. Pip's impressions of Barnard's Inn; Pip is welcomed by Herbert Pocket, 
in whom he recognizes the pale boy he had fought with at Miss Havisham's. — XXII. 
Herbert informs Pip of his former expectations from Miss Havisham, and their dis- 
appointment; Herbert gives Pip the name of Handel; Pip learns from Herbert the 
history of Miss Havisham, interspersed with some hints for the improvement of hit 



©reat ISjrpectations. 447 

»wn manners; Pip is introduced to Mr. Matthew Pocket and his family. — XXIII. Some 
account of Mr. and Mrs. Pocket, their lodgers, and their domestic mismanagement. — 
XXIV. Pip begins to do business with Mr. Jaggers, and is shown that gentleman's office- 
arrangements by Mr. Wemmick. — XXV. Pip accompanies Wemmick home to Walworth, 
where he is introduced to the Aged, and spends the night. — XXVI. Pip and his friends 
dine with Mr. Jaggers ; singular appearance of that gentleman's housekeeper ; quarrel be- 
tween Bentley Drummle and Pip, at Mr. Jaggers's table. —XXVII. Pip receives a letter 
ft"om Biddy, announcing a visit from Joe, and soon after Joe himself arrives; Miss Havi- 
sham sends word by Joe that Estella has returned, and would be glad to see Pip. — 

XXVIII. Pip goes down to the old town, by stage, and recognizes, in a convict who is being 
carried to the hulks, the man from whom he had received the two one-pound notes. — 

XXIX. Pip is surprised to find Orlick occupying the place of porter at Miss Havisham's; 
meeting of Pip and Estella, and their walk together in tjie garden; Miss Havisham's pas- 
sionate appeal to Pip to love Estella, and the sudden appearance of Mr. Jaggers in the room. 

— XXX. HowTrabb's boy met Pip in the street, and attended him from the town ; Pip ac- 
knowledges to Herbert his love for Estella and his doubts of ever winning her; Herbert re- 
turns the confidence by informing Pip of his own engagement. — XXXI. Mr. Wopsle's ap- 
pearance as Hamlet ; Pip receives a note from Estella informing him of her approaching 
visit to London. —XXXII. He accompanies Wemmick to Newgate, and witnesses the 
estimation in which Jaggers is held in that institution. — XXXIII. Pip receives Estella on 
her arrival, and escorts her to her destination at Richmond. — XXXIV. Effect produced 
upon Pip by his expectations, and the way in which he and Herbert " looked into their 
affairs; " Pip receives notice of the death of his sister, and goes down to attend the funeral. 
—XXXV. He has a conversation with Biddy, who understands him better than he under- 
stands himself.— XXXVI. Jaggers congratulates Pip on his coming of age, and presents 
him with five hundred pounds from his unknown benefactor, but does not disclose the 
name of the person. — XXXVII. Wemmick makes a distinction between his opinions in the 
office and at Walworth; Pip spends Sunday at Wemmick's, and witnesses his care of his 
aged parent, and his attentions to Miss Skiffins; Pip, with Wemmick's assistance, sets 
Herbert up in business. — XXXV HI. Pip pays frequent visits to Estella, at Mrs. Brand- 
ley's, and escorts her home to Miss Havisham's ; some harsh words are exchanged between 
Miss Havisham and Estella; Drummle offends Pip by toasting Estella; Pip remonstrates 
with Estella for encouraging Drummle's attentions. — XXXIX. Pip» sitting alone in his 
room at a late hour of the night, is interrupted by a strange visitor, iu whom he recog- 
nizes his convict, and from whom he learns that this man himself is the unknown patron 
whose money he has been spending ; he also learns the risk at which the convict has re- 
turned to England. — XL. Pip stumbles over a man on his staircase, and learns from the 
watchman that his convict was followed by another person ; satisfaction of Provis in 
seeing "the gentleman he has made; " Pip engages rooms for Provis, whom he represents 
as his uncle ; Pip verifies, by reference to Mr. Jaggers, his knowledge that Provis is his 
sole benefactor. — XLI. Herbert returns, and, taking the oath demanded by Provis, is told 
the whole secret of his connection with Pip ; aversion of the young men for Pip's patron. 

— XLII. Provis relates the story of his life, and his connection with Compeyson, the other 
convict who had been retaken with him on the marshes ; Herbert recognizes in Compey- 
son the man who professed to be Miss Havisham's lover. —XLIII. Having decided to go 
abroad with Provis, Pip goes down to see Miss Havisham and Estella before leaving Eng- 
land; he encounters Bentley Drummle at the Blue Boar. — XLIV. Pip calls upon Miss 
Havisham, informs her of his discovery that she Is not his patron, as he had always sup- 
posed, and begs her to continue to Herbert the assistance he had begun to render ; he con- 
fesses to Estella his love for her, and learns that she is soon to be married to Drummle ; 
returning to London, Pip is warned by Wemmick not to go home. — XLV. Pip goes down 
to Warwick to consult Wemmick, and learns from him that Provis and himself had been 
watched, that Compeyson is in London, and that, with Herbert's assistance, Provis had 
been taken to a place of greater safety. — XLVI. Pip accompanies Herbert to Mrs. Whim- 
pie's, meets Clara Barley, and becomes acquainted with the peculiarities of old Bill 
Barley; they arrange apian for the escape of Magwitch b}' water. —XLVII. Pip seeks 
to divert his mind by going to the play, and after the performance learns from Wopsle that 
theother of the two convicts of the marshes was in the audience. —XLVIII. Pip receive* 



448 8C|)e 3I9fcfeens Bfctfonats. 

through Jaggers a message from Miss Havisham, requesting to see him; he suspects 
Jaggers's housekeeper to be Estella's mother, and questions Wemmiclc in regard to her 
story. — XLIX. Pip goes down again to Miss Havisham's, and receives from her the 
assistance he had asked for Herbert ; he confirms his belief that Molly is the mother of 
Estella; Pip walks round the place before leaving, and, returning to Miss Havisham's 
room, sees her clothes in flames, and rescues her. — L. Pip learns from Herbert that portion 
of Provis's history relating to some trouble he had had with a woman, and knows from 
the facts that the convict is Estella's father. — LI. Pip informs Jaggers of his discovery 
of Estella's parentage; Jaggers and Wemmick discover something unprofessional in each 
other's character. — LII. Pip receives notice from Wemmick that the attempt to get 
Provis oflf may safely be made, and arranges accordingly ; he also receives a singular 
letter, requesting his presence by night at the lime- kiln on the old marshes. — LIII. 
Obeying this call, he goes to the place designated, where he is set upon and bound by old 
Orlick, who is about to kill him,' when he is rescued by Herbert and Startop; how Her- 
bert came to rescue Pip.— LIV. Pip, Herbert, and Startop take Provis down the river in 
order to get him aboard a foreign steamer; as they are about to accomplish this purpose, 
another boat joins them, and they are summoned to surrender Magwitch ; as the two boats 
lie side by side, Magwitch grasps Compeyson, who is in the oflftcer's boat ; they are run 
down by the approaching steamer, Compeyson drowned, and Magwitch severely injured. 
— LV. Herbert leaves London to take charge of a branch house of his business in Cairo ; 
Wemmick's regret at the sacrifice of Magwitch's "portable property; " marriage of 
?remmick and Miss Skiffins. — LVI. Trial and conviction of Magwitch ; he gradually 
kinks under the injuries he had received, and is tenderly nursed by Pip until his death. — 
LYII. Delirious illness of Pip, from which he recovers to find Joe at his bedside; Joe in- 
forms him of Miss Havisham's death and the conditions of her will ; Pip recovers his 
strength, and Joe leaves him. — LVIII. Pip resolves to return to the forge and to off^er 
himself to Biddy; Pumblechook puts in his claim to be the founder of Pip's fortune, for 
the last time ; Pip goes to the forge in search of Biddy and Joe, and finds them celebrating 
their wedding-da}' ; Pip joins Herbert, and remains abroad eleven years, at the end of 
which time he revisits Satis House, where he meets Estella, who is now a widow, and from 
whom he sees " no shadow of another parting." 



Sotncbobg'si Cuggage. 



[Published in " All the Tear Round," December, 1862.] 

The Christmas-tale published under this name contains an amusing description, 
given by a head waiter named Christopher, of the struggles, trials, and ex- 
periences of the class to which he belongs, and also an account of his purchas- 
ing a quantity of luggage left more than six years previously in Room 24 B by a 
strange gentleman who had suddenly departed without settling his bill, which 
amounted to £2 16s. 6d. Christopher pays Somebody's bill, and takes possession 
of Somebody's luggage, consisting of a black portmanteau, a black bag, a desk, a 
dressing-case, a brown-paper parcel, a hat-box, and an umbrella strapped to a 
walking-stick. These articles are in great part filled with manuscripts. " There 
was writing in his dressing-case, writing in his boots, writing among his shaving- 
tackle, writing in his hat-box, writing folded away down among the very whale- 
bones of his umbrella." The writing found in the boots proves to be a very pretty 
story ; and it is disposed of, together with the other documents, to the conductor 
of "All the Year Round" (Mr. Dickens), on the most satisfactory terms. The 
story is put in type ; and a young man is sent with " the proofs " to Christopher, 
who does not understand that they are intended to receive any corrections he may 
wish to make, but supposes that they are the proofs of his having illegally sold 
the writings. In a few days, the strange gentleman suddenly re-appears at the 
coffee-house; and Christopher, overcome with terror and remorse, makes a full 
confession of what he has done, lays " the proofs " before him, and offers any 
gradual settlement that may be possible. To his amazement, the unknown grasps 
his hand, presses him to his breast-bone, calls him " benefactor" and "philanthro- 
pist," forces two ten-pound notes upon him, and explains, that, " from boyhood's 
aour," he has " unremittingly and unavailingly endeavored to get into print." 
Sitting down with several new pens, and all the inkstands well filled, he devotes 
himself, the night through, to the task of correcting the press, and is found, the 
next morning, to have smeared himself and the proofs to that degree, that " few 
could have said which was them, and which was him, and which was blots." 
88* 449 



450 STIje Bi^cfeens 33ictfonar2. 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 

Bebelle (a playful name for Gabrielle). A little orplian-girl, 
very pretty and very good ; the protegee of Corporal Theophile, 
and afterwards adopted by Mr. Langley. 

A mere baby, one might call her, dressed in the close white linen cap which 
small French country-children wear (like the children in Dutch pictures), 
and in a frock of homespun blue, that had no shape, except where it was tied 
round her little fat throat ; so that, being naturally short, and round all over, 
she looked behind as if she had been cut off at her natural waist, and had had 
her head neatly fitted on it. 

Bouclet, Madame. Mr. Langley's landlady; a compact little 
woman of thirty-five, or so, who lets all her house overlooking the 
place, in furnished flats, and lives up the yard behind. 

Christophej*. Head waiter at a London coffee-house ; born as 
well as bred to the business. He dedicates his introductory essay 
on " waitering " to Joseph, " much respected head waiter at the 
Slamjam Cofiee- House, London, E.G., than which, a individual more 
eminently deserving of the name of man, or a more amenable 
honor to his own head and heart, whether considered in the light of 
a waiter, or regarded as a human being, do not exist." 

Englishman, Mr., The. See Langley, Mr. 

Gabrielle. See Bebelle. 

Langley, Mr., called Mb. The Englishman. A lodger at 
Madame Bouclet's, in the Grande Place of a dull old fortified 
French town. 

In taking his appartement, — or, as one might say on our side of the channel, 
his set of chambers, — [he] had given his name, correct to the letter, LANGLEY. 
But as he had a British way of not opening his mouth very wide on foreign 
soil, except at meals, the Brewery [Madame Bouclet and her family] had been 
able to make nothing of it but L'Anglais. So Mr. the Englishman he had be- 
come, and he remained. 

He is a very unreasonable man, given to grumbling, moody, and 
somewhat vindictive. Having had a quarrel with his erring and 
disobedient daughter, he has disowned her, and gone abroad to be 
rid of her for the rest of his life. But becoming acquainted with 
Corporal Theophile and his orphan charge Bebelle, and witnessing 



Sometotis's 3luasase. 451 

their strong affection for each other, and the deep grief of the child 
at the death of her friend, his heart is penetrated and softened. He 
adopts the forlorn little one as a trust providentially committed to 
him, and goes back with her to England, determined on a reconciU- 
ation with his daughter. 

Martin, Miss. A young lady at the bar of the coffee-house where 
Christopher is head waiter, who makes out the bills. 

Mutuel, Monsieur. A friend of Madame Bouclet's ; a French- 
man with an amiable old walnut-shell countenance. 

A spectacled, snuffy, stooping old gentleman in carpet-shoes, and a cloth-cap 
with a peaked shade, a loose blue frock-coat reaching to his heels, a large limp 
white shirt-frill, and cravat to correspond: that is to say, white was the 
natural color of his linen on Sundays ; but it toned down with the week. 

Pratchett, Mrs. Head chambermaid at the coffee-house where 
Christopher is head waiter; "a female of some pertness, though 
acquainted with her business." Her husband is in Australia ; and 
his address there is " The Bush.'* 

Theophile, Corporal. A brave French soldier, beloved by all 
his comrades ; friend and protector of little Bebelle. 

The corporal, a smart figure of a man of thirty, perhaps a thought under 
the middle size, but very neatly made, -a sunburnt corporal with a browa 
peaked beard, .... Nothing was amiss or awry about the corporal. A bthe 
and nimble corporal, quite complete, from the sparkling dark eyes under his 
knowing uniform cap to his sparkling white gaiters. The very image and pre- 
sentment of a corporal of his country's army, in the line of his shoulders, the 
line of his waist, the broadest line of his Bloomer trousers, and their narrowest 
line at the calf of his leg. 



Mxs. Ctrnpcr'0 Cobging©. 



[PCBLISHBD IN ** ALL THE YEAR ROUND," IN DECEMBER, 1863.] 

Thi3 Christmas-tale purports to be the reminiscences of a Mrs.Lirriper, a 
lodging-house keeper of No. 81, Norfolk Street, Strand. It sets forth the circum- 
stances under which she went into the business, and the manner in which she has 
carried it on for eight and thirty years, including her trials with servant-girls, and 
her troubles with an opposition establishment. The chief interest of the story, 
however, centres around the child of Mrs. Edson, a delicate young woman, who 
is cruelly deserted by her husband within a few weeks after their marriage. She 
dies, heart-broken, in giving birth to a little boy, who is adopted by Mrs. Lirriper, 
and who is brought up under the joint guardianship of herself, and her friend 
and lodger, Major Jemmy Jackman. 



CHARAGTEBS INTRODUCED, 

Bobbo. Friend and school-fellow of the hero of an extravagant 
story that Jemmy Luriper tells his grandmother and godfather. 

Edson, Mr. A gentleman from the country, who takes lodgings 
for himself and wife at Mrs. Lirriper's, and, after staying there for 
three months, cruelly deserts her under pretence of being suddenly 
called by business to the Isle of Man. See further in " Mrs. Lirri- 
per's Legacy." 

Edson, Mrs. Peggy. His wife ; a very pretty and delicate young 

lady. When she discovers that her husband has abandoned her, 

she attempts to end her own life and that of her unborn infant by 

throwing herself into the Thames ; but she is prevented by Mrs. 

i52 



^xs. 3lfrriper*s HoUgings. 453 

Lirriper and Major Jackman, who watch and follow her, but con- 
ceal their knowledge of her intention. Desolate and heart-broken, 
however, she dies, not long afterwards, in giving birth to a Uttle 
boy, who is adopted and brought up by Mrs. Lirriper. 
Jackman, Major Jemmy. A gentleman who leaves Miss Wo- 
zenham's lodging-house in a rage, because " she has no apprecia- 
tion of a gentleman," and takes the parlors at Mrs. Lirriper's. He 
becomes a warm friend of his new landlady, who reciprocates his 
regard. She describes him as, — 

A most obliging lodger and punctual in all respects except one irregular 
which I need not particularly specify, but made up for by his being a protection 
and at all times ready to fill in the papers of the assessed taxes and juries and 
that, and . . . ever quite the gentleman though passionate. . . . Thougli he is far 
from tall he seems almost so when he has his shirt-frill out and his frock-coat on 
and his hat with the curly brims, and in what service he was I cannot truly tell 
you my dear whether militia or foreign, for I never heard him even name 
himself as major but always simple "Jemmy Jackman" and once soon after 
he came when I felt it my duty to let him know that Miss "Wozenham had put 
it about that he was no major and I took the liberty of adding " which you are 
sir " his words were " Madam at any rate I am not a minor, and suflScient for 
the day is the evil thereof" which cannot be denied to be the sacred truth, nor 
yet his military ways of having his boots with only the dirt brushed off taken 
to him in the front parlor every morning on a clean plate and varnishing them 
himself with a little sponge and a saucer and a whistle in a whisper so sure as 
ever his breakfast is ended, and so neat his ways that it never soils his linen 
which is scrupulous though more in quality than quantity, neither that nor his 
mustachios which to the best of my belief are done at the same time and 
which are as black and shining as his boots, his head of hair being a lovely 
white. 

The major becomes the godfather of Mrs. Edson's little boy, who 
is named for him ; and he takes it upon himself to cultivate his 
mind on a system of his own, which Mrs. Lirriper thinks " ought 
to be known to the throne and lords and commons." 

But picture my admiration when the major going on almost as quick as if 
Ve was conjuring sets out all the articles he names, and says, "Three sauce- 
pans, an Italian iron, a hand-bell, a toasting-fork, a nutmeg-grater, four pot-lids, 
a spice-box, two egg-cups, and a chopping-board, — how many?" and when 
that mite instantly cries " Tifteen, tut down tive and carry ler 'toppiu-board," 
and then claps his hands draws up his legs and dances on his chair I 

My dear with the same astonishing ease and correctness him and the major 
added up the tables chairs and sofy, the picters fender and fire-irons their 
own selves me and the cat and the eyes in Miss Wozenham's head, and when- 
ever the sura was done Young Roses and Diamonds claps his hands and draws 
up his legs and dances on his chair. 

The pride of the major I (" Here 's a mind, ma'am I " he says to me behind 
bis hand.) 



454 Ste J9fcfeens iSictfonarg. 

Then he says aloud, " We now come to the next elementary rule, — which ia 

called" — 

" Umtraction I " cries Jemmy. 

*' Right," says the major. " We have here a toasting-fork, a potato in its 
natural state, two pot-lids, one egg-cup, a wooden spoon, and two skewers, from 
which it is necessary, for commercial purposes, to subtract a sprat-gridiron, a 
small pickle-jar, two lemons, one pepper-castor, a blackbeetle-trap, and a knob 
of the dresser-drawer : what remains ? " 

" Toatin'-fork I " cries Jemmy. 

" In numbers how many ? " says the major. 

" One I " cries Jemmy. 

(" Here 's a boy, ma'am I " says the major to me, behind his hand.) 

Then the major goes on : — 

" We now approach the next elementary rule, which is entitled " — 

" Tickleication," cries Jemmy. 

" Correct," says the major. 

But my dear to relate to you in detail the way in which they multiplied four- 
teen sticks of firewood by two bits of ginger and a larding-needle, or divided 
pretty well every thing else there was on the table by the heater of the Italian 
iron and a chamber candlestick, and got a lemon over, would make my head 
spin round and round and round as it did at the time. 

Jane. A housemaid in Miss Wozenham's service. 

Lirriper, Jemmy Jackman. The son of Mrs. Edson, who 
dies in giving birth to him. He is named for Mrs. Lirriper, who 
adopts him, and for Major Jackman, who becomes his godfather. 
He grows up to be a bright, blithe, and good boy, delighting the 
hearts of both his guardians, who agree that he " has not his like 
on the face of the earth." See Edson, Mrs. Peggy. 

Lirriper, Mrs. Emma. The narrator of the story ; a lodging- 
house keeper at No. 81, Norfolk Street, Strand, " situated midway 
between the city and St. James's, and within five minutes' walk of 
the principal places of public amusement." 

Certainly I ought to know something of the business having been in it so 
long, for it was early in the second year of my married life that I lost my poor 
Lirriper and I set up at Islington directly afterwards and afterwards came here, 
being two houses and eight and thirty years and some losses and a deal of 
experience. 

See introductory remarks, p. 452 ; also Edson (ISIrs. Peggy), 
Jackman (Major Jemmy), Lirriper (Jemmy Jackman), and 
the next story, " Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy." 

Maxey, Caroline. One of Mrs. Lirriper's servant-girls ; a good- 
looking, black-eyed girl, with a high temper, but a kind and grateful 
heart. 

Perkinsop, Mary Anne. A girl in Mrs. Lirriper's service, who 



I^rs. airrfpec's HoTrgfngs. 455 

is enticed away by an offer from Miss Wozenham of one pound 
per quarter more in the way of wages. Mrs. Lirriper regards her 
as " worth her weight in gold " for overawing lodgers, without driv- 
ing them away. 

Seraphina, The heroine of an extravagantly fanciful story related 
by Master Jemmy Jackman Lirriper to his " grandmother " and his 
godfather. She was a schoolmaster's daughter, and the most 
beautiful creature that ever was seen. 

Sophy, called Willing Sophy. A poor, half-starved creature, 
whom Mrs. Lirriper takes into her house as a servant, and who is 
" down upon her knees, scrubbing, early and late, and ever cheerful, 
but always smiling with a black face." 

I says to Sophy, " Now Sophy my good girl have a regular day for your 
stoves and keep the width of the airy between yourself and the blacking and 
do not brush your hair with the bottoms of the saucepans and do not meddle 
with the snuflfs of the candles and it stands to reason that it can no longer be " 
yet there it was and always on her nose, which turning up and being broad at 
the end seemed to boast of it and caused warning from a steady gentleman and 
excellent lodger with breakfast by the week but a little irritable and use of a 
sitting-room when required, his words being " Mrs. Lirriper I have arrived at 
the point of admitting that the Black is a man and a brother, but only in a natu- 
ral form and when it can't be got off." 

Wozenham, Miss. A lodging-house keeper in Norfolk Street, 
not far from Mrs. Lirriper's, but on the other side of the way. 
There is considerable rivalry between the two establishments ; and 
Mrs. Lirriper conceives a strong dislike to Miss Wozenham, on 
account of her advertising in Bradshaw's " Railway Guide," her 
systematic underbidding for lodgers, her enticing servant-girls 
away by the offer of higher wages, and her doing various other ill- 
natured and unfriendly acts. See " Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy." 



Mt0. Cirripet'a Cegacg. 



[Published in *< All the Yeak Bound," December, 1864.] 

This is a sequel to " Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings " (published in 1863), which met 
with a very warm reception from the public, and excited a general desire to know 
more of the old lady's experiences. The legacy is left to Mrs. Lirriper by the Mr. 
Edson who is introduced in the former part of the story as deserting his young 
wife shortly after marrying her, and who dies, repentant, many years after, in 
France, whither she goes to take care of him in his last moments, accompanied by 
his son Jemmy (whom he has never seen), and by her friend and adviser, Major 
Jackman. The benevolent conduct of this good soul to her good-for-nothing 
brother-in-law, Doctor Joshua Lirriper ; to the obnoxious collector of assessed 
taxes, Mr. Buffle, on the night when his house is burnt down ; and to Miss Wozen- 
ham, when that lady was in danger of having her chattels taken from her on exe- 
cution, — forms the subject of the remainder of the story. 



CHARACTERS INTRODUCED, 

Buffle, Mr. Collector of the assessed taxes. His manners when 
engaged in his business are not agreeable ; and he has a habit of 
looking about, as if suspicious that goods are being removed in the 
dead of night by a back-door. Major Jackman knocks his hat oflf 
his head twice for keeping it on in Mrs. Lirriper's presence, when 
he calls at her house in the discharsre of his regular duties. But 
when his house catches fire, and burns to the ground, he and his 
family are taken by the major to Mrs. Lirriper's for shelter ; and 
from this kindness an intimacy springs up between the two house- 
156 



holds, which is very agreeable to all parties, Mr. Buffle even going 
so far as to call the major his " preserver " and " best friend." 
Buffle, Mrs. His wife ; a woman who gives herself airs because 

her husband keeps " a one-horse pheayton." 
Buffle, Miss Robina. Their daughter ; a thin young lady with a 
very small appetite. She favors her father's articled young man, 
George, in opposition to the wishes of her parents ; though they 
finally give their consent to the match. 
Edson, Mr. A former lodger at Mrs. Lirriper's, and the husband 
of a young woman whom he cruelly deserted after living with her 
for a few months. Years pass by ; and he is taken dangerously ill at 
a town in France. Finding that his recovery is impossible, he 
leaves all that he has to Mrs. Lirriper, who had been very kind to 
his poor wife, and who has brought up their child as if it were her 
own. On learning from the French consul in London that an un- 
known Englishman is lying at the point of death in Sens, and that 
her name is mentioned in a communication to the authorities, which 
is found among his papers, she sets out at once for that place with 
her adopted child and her friend Major Jackman. Recognizing 
Mr. Edson in the sick stranger, and finding him truly penitent for 
the grievous wrong he had done, she forgives him, and causes the 
boy — who does not know who the dying man is — also to say, 
" May God forgive you 1 " 
George, A rather weak-headed young man, articled to Mr. Bufile, 

and enamoured of his daughter. 
Gran, Mrs. (i.e. Mrs. Lirriper). A highly respected and be- 
loved lady who resides within a hundred miles of Norfolk Street 
and who figures in Jemmy Lirriper's imaginary version of the 
story of Mr. Edson's life. 
Jackman, Major Jemmy. A lodger at Mrs. Lirriper's ; her 
warm personal friend, and the godfather of her adopted child 
Jemmy. See Lirriper (Jemmy Jackman) and " Mrs. Lirriper's 
Lodo;ino;s." 
Lirriper, Doctor Joshua. Youngest brother of Mrs. Lirriper's 
deceased husband. He is a dissipated scapegrace, and a systematic 
sponger upon his benevolent and unsuspecting sister-in-law. 

Doctor of what I am sure it would be hard to say unless liquor, for neither 
physic nor music nor yet law does Joshua Lirriper know a morsel of except con- 
tinually being summoned to the county court and having orders made upon him 
which he runs away from. 
39 



458 Srjc Bfcftens ISfctionars. 

Joshua Lirriper has his good feelhigs and shows them in being always so 
troubled in his mind when he cannot wear mourning for his brother. Many a 
long year have I left off my widow's mourning not being wishful to intrude, but 
the tender point in Joshua that I cannot help a little yielding to is when he 
writes " One single sovereign would enable me to wear a decent suit of mourn- 
ing for my much loved brother. I vowed at the time of his lamented death 
that I would ever wear sables in memory of him but alas how short-siglited is 
man, how keep that vow when penniless I " It says a good deal for the 
strength of his feelings that he could n't have been seven year old when my 
poor Lirriper died and to have kept to it ever since is highly creditable. But we 
know there 's good in all of us, — if we only knew where it was in some of us, — 
and though it was far from delicate in Joshua to work upon the dear child's 
feelings when first sent to school and write down into Lincolnshire for his 
pocket-money by return of post and got it, still he is my poor Lirriper's own 
youngest brother and might n't have meant not paying his bill at the Salisbury 
Arms when his affection took him down to stay a fortnight at Hatfield church- 
yard and might have meant to keep sober but for bad company. 

Lirriper, Mrs. See introductory remarks (p. 456), Edson (Mr.), 
WozENHAM <^Mtss), and "Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings." 

Lirriper, Jemmy Jackm.an. Son of Mr. Edson, adopted by 
Mrs. Lirriper, and brought up under the joint guardianship of her- 
self and Major Jackman, who is at once his godfather and his 
"companion, guide, philosopher, ^and friend." As he develops a 
taste for engineering, the major assists him in the construction and 
management of a railway, which they name " The United Grand 
Junction Lirriper and Jackman Great Norfolk Parlor Line," which 
is kept on the major's sideboard, and dusted with his own hands 
every morning. 

" For " says my Jemmy with the sparkling eyes when it was christened, " we 
must have a whole mouthful of name Gran or our dear old public " and there 
the young rogue kissed me, " won't stump up." So the public [Mrs. Lirriper] 
took the shares — ten at ninepence, and immediately when that was spent twelve 
preference at one and sixpence — and they were all signed by Jemmy and 
countersigned by the major, and between ourselves much better worth the 
money than some shares I have paid for in my time. In the same holidays the 
line was made and worked and opened and ran excursions and had collisions 
and burst its boilers and all sorts of accidents and ofi"ences all most regular cor- 
rect and pretty. 

The young gentleman accompanies Mrs. Lirriper to Sens, and is 
present at the death of Mr. Edson ; though he does not know him 
to be his father, and is ignorant of the facts in regard to his cruel 
desertion of his wife soon after marriage. Being in the habit of 
composing and relating stories for the amusement of his " grand- 
mother " and godfather, and his mind dwelling on the death-bed 
scene he has witnessed, he frames an imaginary version of his 
father's history, which is wofully unlike the fact, and in which, 



PCrs. Slfrtfper's Hesacj. 459 

In all reverses, whether for good or evil, the words of Mr. Edson to the faif 
young partner of his life were, " Unchanging love and truth will carry us 
through all." 

Madgers, "Winifred. A servant-girl at Mrs. Lirriper*s ; a " Plym- 
outh sister," and a remarkably tidy young woman. 

Rairyganoo, Sally. One of Mrs. Lirriper's domestics, suspected 
to be of Irish extraction, though professing to come of a Cambridge 
family. She absconds, however, with a bricklayer of the Limerick 
persuasion, and is married to him in pattens, being too impatient to 
wait till his black eye gets well. 

Wozenham, Miss. A neighbor of Mrs. Lirriper's in Norfolk 
Street, and the keeper of a rival lodging-house. For many years, 
Mrs. Lirriperhas been strongly prejudiced against Miss Wozenham ; 
but on hearing that she has been " sold up," she feels so much sym- 
pathy for her, that she goes to her without delay or ceremony, ex- 
presses her regret for the unpleasantness there has been between 
them in the past, and cheers her up with true womanly tact and 
kindliness. 

I says " My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a 
head I should better understand your affairs." And we had the tea and the 
aflfairs too and after all it was but forty pound, and — There I she 's as indus- 
trious and straight a creeter as ever lived and has paid back half of it already, 
and where 's the use of saying more, particularly when it ain't the point ? For 
the point is that when she was a-kissing my hands and holding them in hers 
and kissing them again and blessing blessing blessing, I cheered up at last and 
I says " Why what a waddling old goose I have been my dear to take you for 
something so very different I " "Ah but I too "says she "how have I mis- 
taken ?/om.'" "Come for goodness' sake tell me " I says "what you thought 
of me?" "Oh" says she "I thought you had no feeling for such a hard 
hand-to-mouth life as mine, and were rolling in affluence." I says shaking my 
sides (and very glad to do it for I had been a-choking quite long enough) " Only 
look at my figure my dear and give me your opinion whether if I was in affluence 
I should be likely to roll in it I " That did it. "VVe got as merry as grigs (what- 
ever they are, if you happen to know, my dear — I don't) and I went home to 
my blessed home as happy and as thankful as could be. 



©ur mutual iTricnb 



liiKE most of its predecessors, this novel made its first appearance in twenty 
monthly parts. The first part was issued May 1, 1864, and the last in November, 
1865. The illustrations were on "wood from drawings by Marcus Stone. On its 
completion, the work was published in two octavo volumes, by Chapman and 
Hall, with a dedication to the late Sir James Emerson Tennent, 

The story, though not very popular with most readers, and though its plot is 
marred by some improbabilities, is considered by the critics to be a very inge- 
niously-planned and well-executed work. The title is unfortunately chosen, and 
has given a wide currency to the low vulgarism which calls a common friend a 
"mutual "friend. 



CHAEAGTERS INTRODUCED, 

Akershem, Miss Sophronia, An acquaintance of the Veneer- 
ings ; a fast young lady of society, with raven locks, and a com- 
plexion that lights up well when well powdered. She marries Mr. 
Alfred Lammle. (Bk. I, ch. ii, x, xi ; Bk. U, ch. iv, v, xvi ; Bk. Ill, 
ch. V, xii, xiv, xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. ii, viii.) See Lammle, Alfred. 

Blight, Young. A dismal boy, who is Mr. Mortimer Lightwood's 
clerk and office-boy. (Bk. I, ch. viii ; Bk. Ill, ch. xvii ; Bk. IV 
ch. ix, xvi.) 

Bofl&n, Mrs. Henrietta, Wife of Mr. Boffin ; a stout lady of a 
rubicund and cheerful aspect, described by her husband as " a 
high-flyer at fashion." (Bk. I, ch. v, ix, xv-xvii ; Bk. II, ch. viii- 
X, xiv ; Bk. HI, ch. iv, v, xv ; Bk ; IV, ch. ii, xii-xiv, xvi.) 

460 



Boffin, Nioodemus, called Noddy, also The Golden Dustman. 
A confidential servant of the elder Mr. Harmon, who at death 
leaves him all his property, in case his son refuses to marry a cer- 
tain young lady named in his will. This son has quarrelled with 
his father, and parted from him, and, at the time of Mr. Harmon's 
death, is a resident of Cape Colony. He returns to England on 
hearing of that event, but disappears immediately on his arrival ; 
and a body, supposed to be his, is subsequently found floating 
in the Thames in an advanced stage of decomposition, and much 
mjured. Mr. Boffin, therefore, as residuary legatee, comes into 
possession of the whole property, amounting to upwards of one hun- 
dred thousand pounds standing in the books of the Bank of Eng- 
land. As sole executor under the will, he has occasion to visit 
Mortimer Lightwood, Esquire, and, in the course of conversation, 
he gives the following account of his late master and of his master's 
son: — 



" The old man was a awful Tartar (saying it, I 'm sure, without disrespect to 
his memory) ; but the business was a pleasant one to look after, from before day- 
light to past dark. It 's a'most a pity," said Mr. Boffin, rubbing his ear, " that 
he ever went and made so much money. It would have been better for him if 
he had n't so given himself up to it. You may depend upon it," making the 
discovery all of a sudden, " that he found it a great lot to take care of I " 

Mr. Lightwood coughed, not convinced. 

" And speaking of satisfactory," pursued Mr. Boffin, " why, Lord save us I 
when we come to take it to pieces, bit by bit, where 's the satisfactoriness of 
the money as yet ? "When the old man does right the poor boy after all, the 
poor boy gets no good of it. He gets made away with at the moment when he 
's lifting (as one may say) the cup and sarser to his lips. Mr. Lightwood, I will 
now name to you, that, on behalf of the poor dear boy, me and Mrs. Boffin have 
stood out against the old man times out of number, till he has called us every 
name he could lay his tongue to. I have seen him, after Mrs. Boffin has given 
him her mind respecting the claims of the nat'ral affections, catch off Mrs. Bof- 
fin's bonnet (she wore, in general, a black straw, perched, as a matter of con- 
venience, on the top of her head), and send it spinning across the yard. I have 
indeed. And once, when he did this in a manner that amounted to personal, I 
should have given him a rattler for himself, if Mrs. Boffin had n't thrown her- 
self betwixt us, and received flush on the temple. Which dropped her, Mr. 
Lightwood, — dropped her." 

Mr. Lightwood murmured, "Equal honor, — Mrs. Boffin's head and heart." 

*' You understand I name this," pursued Mr. Boffin, " to show you, now the 
affairs are wound up, that me and Mrs. Boffin have ever stood, as we were in 
Christian honor bound, . . . the poor boy's friend; me and Mrs. Boffin up and 
faced the old man when we momently expected to be turned out for our pains. 
As to Mrs. Boffin," said Mr. Boffin, lowering his voice, " she might n't wish it 
mentioned now she 's fashionable ; but she went so far as to tell him, in my 
presence, he was a flinty-hearted rascal. . . . Well, sir. So Mrs. Boffin and 



462 2ri)e ISfcltens Bictionavs* 

me grow older and older in the old man's service, living and working pretty 
hard in it, till the old man is discovered dead in his bed. Then Mrs. Boffin and 
me seal up his box, always standing on the table at the side of his bed; and, 
having frequently heard tell of the Temple as a spot where lawyers' dust is 
contracted for, I come down here in search of a lawyer to advise, and I see 
your young man up at this present elevation chopping at the flies on the win- 
dow-sill with his penknife, and I give him a ' Hoy 1 ' not then having the pleas- 
ure of your acquaintance, and by that means come to gain the honor. Then 
you, and the gentleman in the uncomfortable neck-cloth under the little arch- 
way in Saint Paul's Churchyard" — 

" Doctors' Commons," observed Lightwood. 

"I understood it was another name,'' said Mr. Boffin, pausing; "but you 
knov best. Then you and Doctor Scommons, you go to work, and you do the 
thing that's proper; and j'ou and Doctors, take steps for flnding out the poor 
boy : and at last you do find out the poor boy, and me and Mrs. Boffin often ex- 
change the observation, ' We shall see him again under happy circumstances.' 
But it was never to be ; and the want of satisfactoriness is, that, after all, the 
money never gets to him." 

Mr- Boffin closes his interview with Mr. Lightwood by authorizing 
him to offer a reward of ten thousand pounds for the arrest of the 
murderer of John Harmon, the younger. John Harmon, however, is 
not dead ; though he has but barely escaped being murdered. 
Learning of the condition in his father's will under which he is to 
inherit, it occurs to him to take advantage of the false report of his 
death to make the acquaintance of the young lady (Miss Bella Wil- 
fer), and, if he likes her, to try to win her without disclosing himself. 
He accordingly assumes the name of John Rokesmith, and hires a 
room at her father's house, which gives him an opportunity of thus 
seeing and speaking to her. He also succeeds in making an engage- 
ment to act as secretary and man of business to Mr. Boffin, who shortly 
afterward adopts Miss Wilfer, who is thus brought daily into contact 
with Mr. Rokesmith. She treats him with great disdain ; but he 
comes, in time, to love her devotedly. At last his features, which 
have long attracted and puzzled Mrs. Boffin, betray him ; and he is 
forced to acknowledge the truth about himself. The discovery is 
kept a profound secret from Miss Wilfer, however ; and Mr. Boffin 
comes to Harmon's assistance, and endeavors to win her love for him 
by first exciting her sympathy. He therefore pretends to become 
very miserly, and grows so anxious about the management of his 
estate, that he shamefully abuses his factotum for not taking better 
care of it. In the end, this strategy proves successful, and Bella mar- 
ries the poor secretary, who still retains the name of Rokesmith. 
Meanwhile, Mr. Boffin has discovered, secreted in an old Dutch 



®ur iWutual JFrienli. 463 

bottle, a later will than the one he has proved, and under which he 
has entered upon possession of the estate. By this document, every 
thing is given to him absolutely, excluding and reviling the son by 
name. But, with rare disinterestedness and munificence, Mr. Boffin 
transfers the entire property to the rightful heir, reserving for him- 
self only the house occupied by his late master, which is popu- 
larly called " Harmon's Jail," on account of his solitary manner of 
life, or " Harmony Jail," on account of his never agreeing with 
anybody ; but which Mrs. Boffin renames " Boffin's Bower." 

With respect to his personal appearance, Mr. Boffin is described 
as — 

A broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow . . . dressed in a pea over- 
coat, and carrying a large stick. He wore thick shoes, and thick leather gaiters, 
and thick gloves like a hedger's. Both as to his dress and to himself, he was of 
an overlapping, rhinoceros build, with folds in his cheeks, and his forehead, 
and his eyelids, and his lips, and his ears, but with bright, eager, childishly- 
inquiring gray eyes under his ragged eyebrows and broad- brimmed hat. A 
very odd-looking old fellow altogether. 

These two ignorant and unpolished people [Mr. and Mrs. Boffin] had guided 
themselves . . . so far in their journey of life by a religious sense of duty and 
desire to do right. Ten thousand weaknesses and absurdities might have 
been detected in the breasts of both ; ten thousand vanities additional, possi- 
bly, in the breast of the woman. But the hard, wrathful, and sordid nature that 
nad wrung as much work out of them as could be got in their best days for as 
little money as could be paid to hurry on their worst had never been so warped 
but that it knew their moral straightness, and respected it. In its own despite, 
in a constant conflict with itself and them, it had done so. And this is the 
eternal law. For evil often stops short at itself, and dies with the doer of it ; 
but good never. 

(Bk. I, ch. V, viii, ix, xv-xvii ; Bk. H, ch. vii, viii, x, xiv ; Bk. 
ni, ch. iv-vii, xiv, xv ; Bk. IV, eh. ii, iii, xii-xiv, xvi.) See Har- 
mon (John), Wegg (Silas). 

Boots, Mr. \ Fashionable toadies ; friends of the Veneerings. 

Brewer, Mr. ) (Bk. I, ch. ii, x ; Bk. H, ch. iii, xvi ; Bk. HI, ch. 
xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. xvi.) 

Cherub, The. See Wilfer, Reginald. 

Cleaver, Fanny, called Jenny Wren. A doll's dressmaker. 
Lizzie Hexam, after her fkmer's death, has temporary lodgings 
with her ; and one day her brother calls to see her. 

The boy knocked at a door ; and the door promptly opened with a spring and 
a click. A parlor-door within a small entry stood open, and disclosed a child, 
a dwarf, a girl, a something, sitting on a little low old-fashioned arm-cbairy 
which had a kind of little working-bench before it. 



464 8r!)e liSfcfeens Bfctionar^* 



" I can't get up," said the child, " because my back 's bad, and my legs are 
queer ; but I 'm the person of the house." 

" Who else is at home ? " asked Charley Hexam, staring. 

" Nobody 's at home at present," returned the child, with a glib assertion of her 
dignity, '* except the person of the house. What did you want, young man ? " 

" I wanted to see my sister." 

"Many young men have sisters," returned the child. " Give me your name, 
young man ? " 

The queer little figure, and the queer but not ugly little face, with its bright 
gray eyes, were so sharp, that the sharpness of the manner seemed unavoidable, 
— as if, being turned out of that mould, it must be sharp. 

" Hexam is my name." 

" Ah, indeed ? " said the person of the house. " I thought it might be. Your 
sister will be in in about a quarter of an hour. I am very fond of your sister. 
She 's my particular friend. Take a seat. And this gentleman's name ? " 

"Mr. Headstone, my schoolmaster." 

" Take a seat. And would you please to shut the street-door first ? I can't 
very well do it myself, because my back 's so bad, and my legs are so queer." 

They complied in silence, and the little figure went on with its work of gumming 
or gluing together with a camel's-hair brush certain pieces of cardboard and thin 
wood, previously cut into various shapes. The scissors and knives upon the bench 
showed that the child herself had cut them ; and the bright scraps of velvet and 
silk and ribbon, also strewn upon the bench, showed that, when duly stuffed (and 
stuffing too was there), she was to cover them smartly. The dexterity of her 
nimble fingers was remarkable ; and, as she brought two thin edges accurately to- 
gether by giving them a little bite, she would glance at the visitors, out of the 
corners of her gray eyes, with a look that outsharpened all her other sharp- 
ness. 

" You can't tell me the name of my trade, I '11 be bound," she said after taking 
several of these observations. 

" You make pincushions," said Charley. 

*' What else do I make ? » 

" Penwipers," said Bradley Headstone. 

" Ha, ha I What else do I make? You 're a schoolmaster; but you can't tell 
me." 

" You do something," he returned, pointing to a corner of the little bench, 
" with straw ; but I don't know what." 

" Well done you I " cried the person of the house. " I only make pincushions 
and penwipers to use up my waste. But my straw really does belong to my busi- 
ness. Try again. What do I make with my straw ? " 

"Dinner-mats?" 

" A schoolmaster, and says dinner-mats ! I '11 give you a clew to my trade in a 
gtjne of forfeits. I love my love with a B because she 's beautiful; I hate my love 
with a B because she 's brazen ; I took her to the sign of the Blue Boar, and I 
treated her with bonnets ; her name 's Bouncer, and she lives in Bedlam. Now, 
what do I make with my straw ? " 

" Ladies' bonnets ?" 

" Fine ladic s'," said the person of the house, nodding assent. " Dolls'. I 'm a 
doll's dressmaker." 

" I hope it 's a good business ? " 

The person of the house shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. " No. 



®ur il^tutual j^rientr. 465 

Poorly paid. And I 'm often so pressed for time 1 I had a doll married last week, 
and was obliged to work all night. And it 's not good for me, on account of my 
hack being so bad, and my legs so queer." ..... u . o,.^ ti,« 

They looked at the little creature with a wonder that did not dimmish; and the 
schoolmaster said, - 1 am sorry your fine ladies are so inconsiderate." 

'at 's the wav with them," said the person of the house, shrugging her shoulders 
again. '• And they take no care of their clothes ; and they never keep to the same 
fashions a month. I work for a doll with three daughters. Bless you, she s 
enough to ruin her husband 1 " , ,^ xu 

Tlfe person of the house gave a weird little laugh here, and gave them another 
look out of the corners of her eyes. She had an elfin chin that was capable of great 
expression; and, whenever she gave this look, she hitched this chin up, as if her 
eyes and her chin worked together on the same wires. 

"Are you always as busy as you are now?" 

" Busier I 'm slack just now. I finished a large mourning order the day before 
yesterday. Doll I work for lost a canary-bird." The person of the house gave 
another Utile laugh, and then nodded her head several times, as who should 
moralize, '' Oh, this world, this world ! " .. ...u • u 

.' Are you alone all day ? " asked Bradley Headstone. « Don't any of the neigh- 

boring children?" — , 

"Ah ludl" cried the person of the house with a little scream,. as if the word 
had pricked her. " Don't talk of children. I can't bear children. I know their 
tricks and their manners." She said this with an angry little shake of her right 
fist close before her eyes. , . .i. . ,,, ^ „ 

Perhaps it scarcely required the teacher-habit to perceive that the doll's dre=,s. 
maker was inclined to be bitter on the difference between herself and other 
children ; but both master and pupil understood it so. 

"Always running about and screeching, always playing and fighting, always 
skip-skip-skipping on the pavement, and chalking it for their games. Oh I /know 
their tricks and their manners 1 " Shaking the little fist as before. " And that 's 
not all. Ever so often calling names in through a person's keyhole, and imitating a 
person's back and legs. Oh I J know their tricks and their manners ; and I '11 tell you 
what I 'd do to punish 'em. There 's doors under the church in the square, - black 
doors, leading into black vaults. Well, I 'd open one of those doors, and I 'd cram 
'em all in, and then I'd lock the door, and through the keyhole I 'd blow in pep- 

per." 

" What would be the good of blowing in pepper ? " asked Charley Hexam. 

"To set 'em sneezing," said the person of the house, " and make their eyes 
water ; and, when they were all sneezing and inflamed, I 'd mock 'em through the 
keyhole, just as they, with their tricks and their manners, mock a person through 
a person's keyhole I " 

An uncommonly emphatic shake of her little fist close before her eyes seemed 
to ease the mind of the person of the house; for she added with recovered com- 
posure, " No, no, no I No children for me. Give me grown ups." 

It was difficult to guess the age of this strange creature; for her poor figure fur- 
nished no clew to it, and her face was at once so young and so old. Twelve, or, at 
the most, thirteen, might be near the mark. 

(Bk. II, ch. i, ii, V, xi, XV ; Bk. HI, ch. ii, ui, x, xiii; Bk. IV, ch 
viii-xi, XV.) 



466 ^1)^ 12uktns BictConars. 

Cleaver, Mr., called Mr. Dolls. Her father; a good workman at 
his trade, but a weak, wretched, trembling creature, falling to 
pieces, and never sober. (Bk. 11, eh. ii ; Bk. HI, oh. x, xvii ; Bk. 
IV, ch. viii, ix.) 

Dolls, Mr. See Cleaver, Mr. 

Fledgeby, Mr., called Fascination Fledgeby. A dandified 
young man, who is a dolt in most matters, but sharp and tight 
enough where money is concerned. 

Young Fledgeby had a peachy cheek, or a cheek compounded of the peajh and 
the red red red wall on which it grows, and was an awkward, sandy-haired, 
small-eyed youth, exceeding slim (his enemies would have said lanky), and 
prone to self-examination in the articles of whisker and mustache. While 
feeling for the whisker that he anxiously expected, Fledgeby underwent remark- 
able fluctuations of spirits, ranging along the whole scale from confidence to 
despair. There were times when he started, as exclaiming " By Jupiter, here 
it is at last I " There were other times when, being equally depressed, he would 
be seen to shake his head, and give up hope. To see him at those periods, lean- 
ing on a chimney-piece, like as on an urn containing the ashes of his ambition, 
with the cheek that would not sprout upon the hand on which that cheek had 
forced conviction, was a distressing sight. . . . 

In facetious homage to the smallness of his talk and the jerky nature of his 
manners, Fledgeby's familiars had agreed to confer upon him (behind his back) 
the honorary title of Fascination Fledgeby. 

He is an acquaintance of Mr. Lammle, who unsuccessfully 
endeavors to marry him to Miss Georgiana Podsnap, Fledgeby 
having given him his note for one thousand pounds in case he 
effects the arrangement. Fledgeby is a money-broker, and has an 
office, which is kept by an aged Jew in his service, and is known 
under the firm-name of Pubsey & Co.'s. Under the pretence of 
using his influence with Pubsey & Co., he often strolls into the 
counting-house with some unfortunate acquaintance, and pleads with 
the Jew for an extension on their overdue bills. The old man often 
watches his face for some sign of permission to do so, which is never 
given ; yet Fledgeby habitually reviles him and his race for not 
granting the accommodation that he has himself forced him to 
deny. (Bk. H, ch. iv, v, xvi ; Bk. IH, ch. i, xii, xiii. xvii ; Bk. IV, 
ch. viii, ix, xvi.) See Riah, Mr. 

Glamour, Bob. A customer at the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters. 
(Bk. I, ch. vi ; Bk. IH, ch. iii.) 

Gliddery, Bob. Pot-boy at the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters. 
(Bk. I, ch. vi, xiii ; Bk. Ill, ch. iii.) 

Golden Dustman, The. See Boffin, Nicodemus. 



©ut l^utual JFrfentf. 467 

Greenwich, Archbishop of. Head waiter at a hotel in Green- 
wich ; a solemn gentleman in black clothes and white cravat, look- 
ing much like a clergyman. (Bk. IV, ch. iv.) 

Gruff and Glum. An old wooden-legged pensioner at Green- 
wicli. (Bk. IV, ch. iv.) 

Handford, Julius. See Harmon, John. 

Harmon, John, alias Julius Handford, alias John Roke- 
SMITH. Heir of the Harmon estate. On the death of his father, 
he returns to England from South Africa, where he lias been living 
for a good many years. On his arrival, he is inveigled into a water- 
side inn by a pretended friend, named George Radfoot, with whom 
he has made the passage, and is drugged, robbed, and thrown into the 
Thames. This pretended friend had previously changed clothes with 
Harmon, at the request of the latter, who desired to avoid recognition 
until he had seen a certain young lady whom he is required by his 
father's will to marry. The would-be assassin falls into a quarrel 
with a confederate over the money obtained by the robbery, and is 
himself murdered, and thrown into the river. The cold water into 
which Harmon is plunged restores him to consciousness, and, swim- 
ming to the shore, he escapes. The body of his assailant is found by 
a boatman named Hexam, and is taken in charge by the authorities. 
The clothes and the papers on the body having been identified, it is 
supposed that the body itself is that of young Harmon, who, finding 
himself reported dead, resolves to take advantage of the circumstance 
to further his own plans, and assumes the name of Julius Hand- 
ford, which he afterwards changes to John Rokesmith. (Bk. 
I, ch. ii-iv, viii, ix, xv-xvii ; Bk. II, ch. vii-x, xii-xiv ; Bk. HI, ch. 
iv, V, ix, XV, xvi ; Bk. IV, ch. iv, v, xi-xiv, xvi.) See Boffin, 

NrCODEMUS. 

Harmon, Mrs. John. See Wilfer, Miss Bella. 
Headstone, Bradley. A master in a school in that district 

of the flat country tending to the Thames, where Kent and Surrey 

meet. 

Bradley Headstone, in his decent black coat and waistcoat, and decent white 
shirt, and decent, formal black tie, and decent pantaloons of pepper and salt, 
with his decent silver watch in his pocket, and its decent hair-guard round his 
neck, looked a thoroughly decent young man of six and twenty. He was never 
seen in any other dress ; and yet there Avas a certain stiffness in his manner 
of wearing this, as if there were a want of adaptation between him and it, re- 
calling some mechanics in their holiday clothes. He had acquired mechanically 
a great store of teacher's Icnowledge. He could do mental arithmetic mechan 
ically, sing at sight mechanically, blow various wind-instruments mechanically, 



468 ^^^ JBfckens 3!3tctfonar$. 

even play the great church-organ mechanically. From his early childhood up, 
his mind had been a place of mechanical stowage. The arrangement of his 
wholesale warehouse so that it might be always ready to meet the demands 
of retail dealers (history here, geography there, astronomy to the right, polit* 
ical economy to the left, natural history, the physical sciences, figures, music, the 
lower mathematics, and what not, all in their several places), — this care had 
imparted to his countenance a loolc of care; while the habit of questioning and 
being questioned had given him a suspicious manner, or a manner that would 
be better described as one of lying in wait. There was a kind of settled trouble 
in the face. It was the face belonging to a naturally slow or inattentive intel- 
lect, that had toiled hard to get what it had won, and that had to hold it, now 
that it was gotten. He always seemed to be uneasy lest any thing should be 
missing from his mental warehouse, and taking stock to assure himself. 

Suppression of so much to make room for so much had given him a con- 
strained manner over and above. Yet there was enough of what was animal 
and of what was fiery (though smouldering), still visible in him, to suggest, 
that, if young Bradley Headstone, when a pauper-lad, had chanced to be told 
off for the sea, he would not have been the last man in a ship's crew. Regard- 
ing that origin of his, he was proud, moody, and sullen, desiring it to be for- 
gotten. And few people knew of it. 

He falls passionately in love with Lizzie Hexam, and," finding 
that she favors Mr. Eugene Wrayburn, dogs his footsteps, and at- 
tempts to kill him. Believing that he has done so, he flies, but is 
followed by one Riderhood, a desperate character, who has witnessed 
the assault, and who compels him to pay liberally for keeping the 
secret. At last, Riderhood's demands and persecution become so un- 
endurable, that Headstone determines to get rid of him once for all. 

"Come, come, master," urged Riderhood at his side. "This is a dry game. 
And where 's the good of it ? You can't get rid of me, except by coming to a 
settlement. I am a-going along with you wlierever you go." 

Without a word of reply, Bradley passed quickly from him over the wooden 
bridge on the lock-gates. " Why, there 's even less sense in this move than 
t'other," said Riderhood, following. "The weir 's there; and you '11 have to 
come back, you know." 

Without taking the least notice, Bradley leaned his body against a post, in a 
resting attitude, and there rested with his eyes cast down. "Being brought 
here," said Riderhood gruffly, "I '11 turn it to some use by changing my gates." 
With a rattle and a rush of water, he then swung to the lock-gates that were 
standing open, before opening the others : so both sets of gates were, for the 
moment, closed. 

"You 'd better by far be reasonable, Bradley Headstone, master," said Rider- 
hood, passing liim, "or I '11 drain you all the dryer for it when we do settle. — 
A-h! Would you?" 

Bradley had caught him round the body. He seemed to be girdled with au 
Iron ring. They were on the brink of the lock, about midway between the two 
sets of gates. 

"Let go!" said Riderhood, "or I '11 get my knife out, and slash you wher- 
ever I can cut you. Let go 1 " 

Bradley was drawing to the lock-edge. Riderhood was drawing away from 



©ur l^utual iFrientr. 469 

it. It was a strong grapple and a fierce struggle, arm and leg. Bradley got 
him round, with his back to the lock, and still worked him backward. 

"■ Let go I '' said Riderhood. " Stop I What are you trying at ? You can't 
drown me. Ain't I told you that the man as has come through drowning can 
never be drowned 1 I can't be drowned I " 

" I can be 1 " returned Bradley in a desperate, clinched voice. " I am re- 
solved to be. I '11 hold you living, and I '11 hold you dead. Come down 1 " 

Riderhood went over into the smooth pit backwards, and Bradley Headstone 
upon him. When the two were found, lying under the ooze and scum behind 
one of the rotting gates, Riderhood's hold had relaxed, probably in falling, 
and his eyes were staring upward; but he was girdled still with Bradley's iron 
ring, and the rivets of the iron ring held tight. 

(Bk. II, ch. i, vi, xi, xiv, xv ; Bk. Ill, ch. x, xi 5 Bk. IV, ch. i, 
vi, vii, xi.) 

Hexam, Jesse, called Gaffer. A Thames " waterside charac- 
ter ; " a strong man with ragged grizzled hair and a sun-browned 
face. He is falsely accused of the murder of John Harmon. (Bk. 
I, ch. i, iif, vi, xii-xiv, xvi.) See Hexam, Lizzie. 

Hexam, Charley. His son ; a pupil of Bradley Headstone's, and 
a curious mixture of uncompleted savagery and completed civiliza- 
tion. He is tenderly loved and cared for by his sister, but renoun- 
ces her because she refuses his friend Headstone. Always utterly 
selfish and empty-hearted, and always bent on rising in the social 
scale, and increasing his " respectability," he renounces Headstone 
with equal readiness, when he finds good reason to think him guilty 
of the murder of his sister's favored lover, Eugene Wrayburn, and 
that his own name is therefore likely to be dragged into injurious 
notoriety. (Bk. I, ch. iii, vi; Bk. H, ch. i, vi, xv; Bk. IV, ch. 
vii.) 

Hexam, Lizzie. Daughter of Jesse or " Gaffer " Hexam. She 
is in the habit of rowing with her father on the Thames, and on 
one occasion, while thus engaged, they find the body of a man, 
afterwards identified as John Harmon. Through the jealousy of 
Kogue Riderhood, suspicion is cast upon her father ; and the officers 
undertake to arrest him as being concerned in the murder, but they 
find him in the river drowned, and attached to his own boat by a 
cord, in which he had apparently become entangled when he fell over- 
board. A young lawyer, Eugene Wrayburn, who accompanies the 
officers, becomes interested in the daughter, manifests much sym- 
pathy with her in her affliction, and aids her in obtaining an edu- 
cation. Her brother's teacher, Bradley Headstone, falls deeply in 
love with her, and makes an ofier of marriage. This she refuses, 
and to escape his importunities, and also to save Wrayburn from 
40 



i70 CTlje JButens 33fctfonars. 

his vengeance (for Headstone believes liiin to be the cause of his 
rejection), she leaves London, and obtains employment in a paper- 
mill in the country. After much fruitless search for her, Wray- 
burn ascertains where she is, and follows, bent on having an 
interview with her. He is, in turn, followed by Headstone, who 
comes upon them while they are engaged in conversation. Wait- 
ing until they part, the schoolmaster stealthily follows his rival, and 
deals him a murderous blow as he stands for a moment looking 
into the river. Lizzie hears the blows, a faint groan, and a fall 
into the water. Brave by nature and by habit, she runs towards 
the spot from which the sound had come. Seeing a bloody face 
turned up to the moon, and drifting away with the current, she 
jumps into a boat near by, puts out into the stream, and, when she 
has rescued the sufferer, finds that it is her lover. She tenderly 
nurses him througrh the dangerous illness that follows. When con- 
sciousness returns, he asks to be married to his preserver without 
delay, though no hope of his recovery is entertained by any one. 
Lizzie becomes his wife, and he grows stronger and better by 
slow degrees, and is at last restored to perfect health. (Bk. I, ch. 
i, iii, vi, xiii, xiv ; Bk. H, ch. i, ii, v, xi, xiv-xvi ; Bk. HI, ch. i, 
ii, viii, ix ; Bk. IV, ch. v, x, xi, xvi, xvii.) 
Higden, Mrs. Betty. A poor woman who keeps a " minding- 
school," and also a mangle, in one of the complicated back settle- 
ments of Brentford. 

She was one of those old women, , . . who, by dint of an indomitable pur- 
pose and a strong constitution, fight out many years, though each year has 
come with its new knock-down blows fresh to the fight against her wearied by 
it; an active old woman, with a bright dark eye and a resolute face, yet quite a 
tender creature too; not a logically-reasoning woman. But God is good; and 
hearts may count in heaven as high as heads. 

Betty is haunted by a constant fear that she shall die in an alms- 
house. 

" Do I never read in the newspapers," said the dame, ..." God help me 
and the like of me I — how the worn-out people that do come down to that get 
driven from post to pillar and pillar to post a-purpose to tire them out ? Do I 
never read how they are put off, put off, put off; how they are grudged, 
grudged, grudged, the shelter, or the doctor, or the drop of physic, or the bit of 
bread? Do I never read how they grow heartsick of it, and give it up, after 
having let themselves drop so low, and how they, after all, die out for want of 
help ? Then I say, I hope I can die as well as another; and I'll die without that 
disgrace." 

Absolutely impossible, my lords and gentlemen and honorable boards, by any 
stretch of legislative wisdom to set these perverse people riglit in their logic I 

(Bk. I, ch. xvi ; Bk. H, ch. ix, x, xiv ; Bk. HI, ch. viii.) 



©ur if^utual JFrfenti. 471 

Inspector, Mr. A police-officer who examines into the Harmon 
murder. (Bk. I, ch. iii ; Bk. IV, ch. xii.) 

Joey, Captain. A bottle-nosed regular customer at the Six Jolly 
Fellowship Porters. (Bk. I, ch. vi ; Bk. Ill, ch. iii.) 

Jonathan. A customer at the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters. (Bk. 
I, ch. vi ; Bk. HI, ch. iii.) 

Johnny. An orphan, grandson of Betty Higden. The Boffins 
propose to adopt him ; but he dies before the plan is carried into 
effect. (Bk. I, ch. xvi; Bk. IT, ch. viii, ix, xiv ; Bk. Ill, ch. ix.) 

Jones, George. A customer at the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters 
(Bk. I, ch. vi.) 

Kibble, Jacob. A fellow-passenger of John Harmon's on his 
voyage from Cape Colony to England. (Bk. H, ch. xiii ; Bk. IV, 
ch. xii.) 

Lammle, Alfred. A mature young gentleman with too much nose 
in his face, too much ginger in his whiskers, too much torso in his 
waistcoat, too much sparkle in his studs, his eyes, his buttons, his 
talk, and his teeth. He is an adventurer and a fortune-hunter ; 
and he marries Miss Sophronia Akershem, supposing her to be a 
lady of wealth, while she marries him for the same reason ; each 
beino- deceived by Mr. Veneering, who really knows next to noth- 
ing about either of them. This precious pair of entrapped impos- 
tors determine to revenge themselves on Veneering for his part in 
the matter, but fail in their plans, and after an attempt (which is 
also a failure) to supplant Rokesmith in the house of Mr. Boffin, 
they leave the country. (Bk. I, ch. ii, x, xi ; Bk. H, ch. v, xvi ; Bk. 
Ill, ch. i, V, xii, xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. ii, viii.) 

Lammle, Mrs. Alfred. See Akershem, Miss Sophronia. 
Lightwood, Mortimer. A young solicitor and attorney em- 
ployed by Mr. Boffin. He is an intimate friend of Eugene Wray- 
burn. (Bk. I, ch. ii, iii, viii, x, xii, xvi ; Bk. H, ch. vi, xiv, xvi ; 
Bk. Ill, ch. X, xi, xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. ix-xii.) 
Mary Anne. Miss Peecher's assistant and favorite pupil, so im- 
bued with the class-custom of stretching out an arm, as if to hail a 
cab or omnibus, whenever she finds she has an observation on hand 
to offer to Miss Peecher, that she often does it in their domestic re- 
lations. (Bk. I, ch. i, xi ; Bk. IV, ch. vii.) 
Milvey, Mrs. Margaretta. Wife of the Reverend Frank ; a 
pretty, bright little woman, something worn by anxiety, who has re- 
pressed many pretty tales and bright fancies, and substituted, in 



472 STlje Bfcfeens ISfctfonar^. 

their stead, schools, soup, flannel, coals, and all the week-day cares 

and Sunday coughs of a large population, young and old. (Bk. I, 

eh. ix, xvi ; Bk. II, ch. x ; Bk. Ill, ch. ix ; Bk. IV, ch. xi.) 

Milvey, The Reverend Frank. A young curate. (Bk. I, ch. 

ix, xvi ; Bk. II, ch. x ; Bk. Ill, ch. ix ; Bk. IV, ch. xi.) 

He was quite a young man, expensively educated and wretchedly paid, with 
quite a young wife, and half a dozen quite young children. He was under the 
necessity of teaching, and translating from the classics, to eke out his scanty 
means, yet was generally expected to have. more time to spare than the idlest 
person in the parish, and more money than the richest. He accepted the need- 
less inequalities and inconsistencies of his life with a kind of conventional 
submission that was almost slavish ; and any daring layman who would have 
adjusted such burdens as his more decently and graciously would have had small 
help from him. 

Mullins, Jack. A frequenter of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters. 

(Bk. I, ch. vi.) 
Peecher, Miss Emma. A teacher in the female department of 

the school in which Bradley Headstone is a master. (Bk. I, ch. 

xi, XV ; Bk. Ill, ch. xi ; Bk. IV, ch. vii.) 

Small, shining, neat, methodical, and buxom was Miss Peecher; cherry- 
cheeked and tuneful of voice. A little pincushion, a little housewife, a little 
book, a little work-box, a little set of tables and weights and measures, and a 
little woman, all in one. She could write a little essay on any subject, exactly 
a slate long, beginning at the left-hand top of one side, and ending at the right- 
hand bottom of the other ; and the essay should be strictly according to rule. If 
Mr. Bradley Headstone had addressed a written proposal of marriage to her, 
she would probably have replied in a complete little essay on the theme exactly 
a slate long ; but would certainly have replied, '' Yes," for she loved him. The 
decent hair-guard that went round his neck, and took care of his decent silver 
watch, was an object of envy to her: so would Miss Peecher have gone round 
his neck, and taken care of him, — of him, insensible, because he did not love 
Miss Peecher. 

Podsnap, Miss G-eorgiana. A shy, foolish, affectionate girl, of 
nearly eighteen, in training for " society." (Bk. I, ch. xi, xvii ; 
Bk. n, ch. iv, V, xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. i, xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. ii.) 

She was but an under-sized damsel, with high shoulders, low spirits, chilled 
elbows, and a rasped surface of nose, who seemed to take occasional frosty 
peeps out of childhood into womanhood, and to shrink back again, overcome 
by her mother's head-dress, and her father from head to foot, — crushed by the 
mere dead-weight of Podsnappery. 

A certain institution in Mr. Podsnap's mind, which he called " the young 
I.€rson," may be considered to have been embodied in Miss Podsnap, his daugh- 
ter. It was an inconvenient and exacting institution, as requiring every thing 
in the universe to be filed down and fitted to it. The question about every 
thing was, "Would it bring a blush into the cheek of the young person ? And 
the inconvenience of the young person was, that, according to Mr. Podsnap, 
the seemed always liable to burst into blushes when there was no need at all 




fODSNAPPERY. 



©ur IWutual SftUntj, 473 

There appeared to be no line of demarcation between the young person's excess 
ive innocence and another person's guiltiest knowledge. Take Mr. Podsnap'a 
word for it, and the soberest tints of drab, white, lilac, and gray, were all flam- 
ing red to this troublesome bull of a young person. . . . Miss Podsnap's life 
had been, from her first appearance on this planet, altogether of a shady order; 
for Mr. Podsnap's young person was likely to get little good out of association 
with other young persons, and had therefore been restricted to companionship 
with not very congenial older persons, and with massive furniture. Miss Pod- 
snap's early views of life being principally derived from the reflections of it in 
her father's boots and in the walnut and rosewood tables of the dim drawing- 
rooms, and in their swarthy giants of looking-glasses, were of a sombre cast; 
and it was not wonderful, that now, when she was on most days solemnly 
tooled through the park by the side of her mother in a great tall custard-colored 
phaeton, she showed above the apron of that vehicle like a dejected young per- 
son sitting up in bed to take a startled look at things in general, and very 
strongly desiring to get her head under the counterpane again. 

Podsnap, Mr. John. Her father ; a member of " society," and 
a pompous, self-satisfied man, swelling with patronage of his friends 
and acquaintances. (Bk. I, ch. ii, x, xi, xvii ; Bk. II, ch. iii-v, 
xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. i, xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. xvii.) 

Mr. Podsnap was well to do, and stood very high in Mr. Podsnap's opinion. 
Beginning with a good inheritance, he had married a good inheritance, and 
had thriven exceedingly in the marine insurance way, and was quite satisfied. 
He never could make out why everybody was not quite satisfied, and he felt 
conscious that he set a brilliant social example in being particularly well satis- 
fied with most things, and, above all other things, with himself. 

Thus happily acquainted with his own merit and importance, Mr. Podsnap 
settled, that, whatever he put behind him, he put out of existence. There was a 
dignified conclusiveness, not to add a grand convenience, in this way of get- 
ting rid of disagreeables, which had done much towards establishing Mr. Pod- 
snap in his lofty place in Mr. Podsnap's satisfaction. "I don't want to know 
about it : I don't choose to discuss it ; I don't admit it I " Mr. Podsnap had even 
acquired a peculiar flourish of his right arm in often clearing the world of its 
most difficult problems by sweeping them behind him (and consequently sheer 
away) with those words and a flushed face; for they affronted him. 

Mr. Podsnap's world was not a very large world morally, no, nor even geo- 
graphically ; seeing, that, although his business was sustained upon commerce 
with other countries, he considered other countries, with that important reser- 
vation, a mistake; and of their manners and customs would conclusively 
observe, "Not English I" when presto I with a flourish of the arm and a 
flush of the face, they were swept away. Elsewise, the world got up at eight, 
shaved close at a quarter-past, breakfasted at nine, went to the city at ten, 
came home at half-past five, and dined at seven. Mr. Podsnap's notions of 
the arts in their integrity might have been stated thus. Literature : large print, 
respectfully descriptive of getting up at eight, shaving close at a quarter-past, 
breakfasting at nine, going to the city at ten, coming home at half-past five, 
and dining at seven. Painting and sculpture : models and portraits, represent- 
ing professors of getting up at eight, shaving close at a quarter-past, break- 
fasting at nine, going to the city at ten, coming home at half-past five, and 
dining at seven. Music: a respectable performance (without variations) on 
40* 



474 STfie Bfcltens Bictfonarg. 

stringed and wind instruments, sedately expressive of getting up at eight, 
shaving close at a quarter-past, breakfasting at nine, going to the city at ten, 
coming home at half-past five, and dining at seven. Nothing else to be per- 
mitted to those same vagrants the arts, on pain of excommunication. Noth 
ing else to be — anywhere I 

As a so eminently respectable man, Mr. Podsnap was sensible of its being 
required of him to take Providence under his protection : consequently he 
always knew exactly what Providence meant. Inferior and less respectable 
men might fall short of that mark; but Mr. Podsnap was always up to it. And 
it was very remarkable (and must have been very comfortable) that what Provi- 
dence meant was invariably what Mr. Podsnap meant. 

These may be said to have been the articles of faith of a school which the 
present chapter takes the liberty of calling, after its representative man, Pod- 
snappery. They were confined within close bounds, as Mr. Podsnap's own head 
was confined by his shirt-collar; and they were enunciated with a sounding 
pomp that smacked of the creaking of Mr. Podsnap's own boots. 

Podsnap, Mrs. His wife ; a " fine woman for Professor Owen, 
quantity of bone, neck and nostrils like a rocking-horse, hard 
features," and a majestic presence. (Bk. I, ch. ii, x, xi, xvii ; Bk. II, 
eh. iii, iv ; Bk. Ill, ch. i, xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. xvii.) 

Poddies. The pet name of a little girl in Mrs. Betty Higden's 
" minding-school." (Bk. I, ch. xvi.) 

Potterson, Miss Abbey. Sole proprietor and manager of a 
well-kept tavern called the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters ; a woman 
of great dignity and firmness, tall, upright, and well-favored, though 
severe of countenance, and having more the air of a schoolmistress 
than mistress of a public-house. (Bk. I, ch. vi, xiii ; Bk. Ill, ch. 
ii, iii; Bk. IV, ch. xii.) 

The Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, ... as a tavern of a dropsical ap» 
pearance, had long settled down into a state of hale infirmity. In its whole 
constitution it had not a straight floor, and hardly a straight line; but it 
had outlasted, and clearly would yet outlast, many a better-trimmed building, 
many a sprucer public-house. Externally, it was a narrow, lopsided, wooden 
jumble of corpulent windows heaped one upon another, as you might heap as 
many toppling oranges, with a crazy wooden veranda impending over the 
water : indeed, the whole house, inclusive of the complaining flagstafi* on the 
roof, impended over the water, but seemed to have got into the condition of a 
faint-hearted diver, who has paused so long on the brink, that he will never go 
in it at all. 

This description applies to the river-frontage of the Six Jolly Fellowship 
Porters. The back of the establishment, though the chief entrance was there, 
so contracted that it merely represented, in its connection with the front, the 
handle of a flat-iron set upright on its broadest end. This handle stood at the 
bottom of a wilderness of court and alley, which wilderness pressed so hard and 
close upon the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters as to leave the hostlerynot an inch 
of ground beyond its door. . . . 

The bar of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters was a bar to soften the human 
oreast. The available space in it was not much larger than a hackney-coach ; 



©ur il^utual iFtientr. 475 

but no one could have wished the bar bigger, that space was so girt in by cor- 
pulent little casks, and by cordial-bottles radiant with fictitious grapes ia 
bunches, and by lemons in nets, and by biscuits in baskets, and by the polite 
beer-pulls that made low bows when customers were served with beer, and by 
the cheese in a snug corner, and by the landlady's own small table in a snugger 
corner near the fire, with the cloth everlastingly laid. This haven was divided 
from the rough world by a glass partition and a half-door with a leaden sill 
upon it for the convenience of resting your liquor ; but over this half-door the 
bar's snugness so gushed forth, that, albeit customers drank there, standing in 
a dark and draughty passage, where they were shouldered by other customers 
passing in and out, they always appeared to drink under an enchanting delu- 
sion that they were in the bar itself. 

For the rest, both the tap and parlor of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters 
gave upon the river, and had red curtains, matching the noses of the regular 
customers. 

Potterson, Job. Her brother ; steward of the ship in which John 
Harmon is a passenger. (Bk. I. ch. iii ; Bk. H, ch. xiii ; Bk. IV, 
ch. xii.) 

Pubsey and Co. The name of a fictitious firm of money-brokers 
in Saint Mary- Axe, used by " Fascination " Fledgeby to conceal 
his sharp practice in " shaving " notes. 

Riah, Mr. An aged Jew, of venerable aspect and a generous and 
noble nature, who befriends Lizzie Hexam, and obtains employment 
for her. He is the agent of " Fascination " Fledgeby, who directs 
all his proceedings, while keeping himself in the background. 
(Bk. n, ch. V, XV ; Bk. IH, ch. i, ii, x, xli, xiii ; Bk. IV, ch. viii, 
ix, xvi.) 

Fascination Fledgeby took another scratch at his intellectual head with his 
hat [and said], <' Who but you and I ever heard of a poor Jew ? " 

"The Jews," said the old man, raising his eyes from the ground with his 
former smile. " They hear of poor Jews often, and are very good to them." 

" Bother that I " returned Fledgeby. . " You know what I mean. You 'd per- 
suade me, if you could, that you are a poor Jew. I wish you 'd confess how 
much you really did make out of my late governor. I should have a better 
opinion of you." 

The old man only bent his head, and stretched out his hands as before. 

"Don't go on posturing like a deaf-and-dumb school," said the ingenious 
Fledgeby, "but express yourself like a Christian, — or as nearly as you can." 

" I had had sickness and misfortunes, and was so poor," said the old man, 
" as hopelessly to owe the father principal and interest. The son inheriting 
was so merciful as to forgive me both, and place me here." 

He made a little gesture as though he kissed the hem of an imaginary gar- 
ment worn by the noble youth before him. It was humbly done, but pictur- 
esquely, and was not abasing to the doer. 

" You won't say more, I see," said Fledgeby, looking at him as if he would 
like to try the effect of extricating a double-tooth or two, " and so it 's of no 
use my putting it to you. But confess this, Riah : who believes you to be poor 
now?" 



476 ®5e Bfcfeens Bfctfonaij. 

" No one," said the old man. 

*' There you 're right," assented Fledgeby. 

" No one," repeated the old man with a grave slow wave of hi8 head. "All 
scout it as a fable. Were I to say, 'This little fancy business is not mine,'" 
with a lithe sweep of his easily-turning hand around him to comprehend the 
various objects on the shelves, " ' it is the little business of a Christian young 
gentleman, who places me, his servant, in trust and charge here, and to whom 
I am accountable for every single bead,' they would laugh. When, in the larger 
money-business, I tell the borrowers " — 

" I say, old chap 1 " interposed Fledgeby, " I hope you mind what you do tell 
'em ? " 

" Sir, I tell them no more than I am about to repeat. WTien I tell them, ' I 
cannot promise this, I cannot answer for the other, I must see my principal, I 
have not the money, I am a poor man, and it does not rest with me,' they are so 
unbelieving and so impatient, that they sometimes curse me in Jehovah's 
name." 

" That 's deused good, that is 1 " said Fascination Fledgeby. 

" And at other times they say, * Can it never be done without these tricks, 
Mr. Riah? Come, come, Mr. Riah, we know the arts of your people.' — My 
people I — 'If the money is to be lent, fetch it, fetch it; if it is not to be 
lent, keep it and say so.' They never believe me." 

" That 's all right," said Fascination Fledgeby. 

" They say, * We know, Isli. Riah, we know. We have but to look at you, 
and we know.' " 

" Oh! a good 'un are you for the post," thought Fledgeby, "and a good 'un 
was I to mark you out for it I I may be slow ; but I am precious sure." 

Not a syllable of this reflection shaped itself in any scrap of Mr. Fledgeby's 
breath, lest it should tend to put his servant's price up. But, looking at the old 
man as he stood quiet, with his head bowed and his eyes cast down, he felt, that 
to relinquish an inch of his baldness, an inch of his gray hair, an inch of his 
coat-skirt, an inch of his hat-brim, an inch of his walking-staff, would be to 
relinquish hundreds of pounds. 

" Look here, Riah," said Fledgeby, mollified by these self-approving consid- 
erations. " I want to go a little more into buying up queer bills. Look out in 
that direction." 

" Sir, it shall be done." 

" Casting my eye over the accounts, I find that branch of business pays 
pretty fairly, and I am game for extending it. I like to know people's affairs 
likewise: so look out." 

" Sir, I will, promptly." 

" Put it about in the right quarters, that you '11 buy queer bills by the lump, 
— by the pound-weight, if that 's all, — supposing you see your way to a fair 
chance on looking over the parcel. And there 's one thing more. Come to me 
with the books for periodical inspection, as usual, at eight on Monday morn- 
ing." 

Riah drew some folding tablets from his breast, and noted it down. 

" That 's all I wanted to say at the present time," continued Fledgeby in a 
grudging vein as he got off the stool. 

Riderhood, Pleasant. Daughter of Roger Riderhood ; finally 
married to Mr. Venus, after rejecting him more than once. (Bk. 
U, ch. xii, xiii ; Bk. Ill, ch. iv, vii ; Bk. IV, ch. xiv.) 



©ur i^utual jFrfentr. 477 

Upon the smallest of small scales, she was an unlicensed pawnbroker, keep- 
ing what was popularly called a leaving-shop, by lending insignificant sums 
on insignificant articles of property deposited with her as security. In her 
four and twentieth year of life, Pleasant was already in her fifth year of this 
way of trade. 

Why christened Pleasant, the late Mrs. Riderhood might possibly have been 
at some time able to explain, and possibly not. Her daughter had no informa- 
tion on that point : Pleasant she found herself, and she could n't help it. She 
had not been consulted on the question, any more than on the question of her 
coming into these terrestrial parts to want a name. Similarly she found her- 
self possessed of what is colloquially termed a swivel eye (derived from her 
father), which she might perhaps have declined if her sentiments on the sub- 
ject had been taken. She was not otherwise positively ill-looking, though anx- 
ious, meagre, of a muddy complexion, and looking as old again as she really 
was. 

As some dogs have it in the blood, or are trained, to worry certain creatures 
to a certain point, so — not to make the comparison disrespectfully — Pleasant 
Riderhood had it in the blood, or had been trained, to regard seamen, within 
certain limits, as her prey. Show her a man in a blue jacket, and, figuratively 
speaking, she pinned him instantly. Yet, all things considered, she was not of 
an evil mind or an unkindly disposition. 

Riderhood, Roger, called Rogue. A desperate "waterside 
character," in whose house an attempt is made on John Harmon's 
Hfe. Quarrelling with Gaffer Hexam, who had been his partner, 
and anxious to obtain the reward offered by Mr. Boffin for the arrest 
of the supposed murderer, he goes to Mortimer Lightwood's office, 
and accuses Hexam of having done the deed. Search being made 
for Hexam, he is discovered drowned ; and the reward is conse- 
quently not paid. Riderhood finally becomes a deputy lock-keeper 
at Plashwater Weir Mill, and is cognizant of Bradley Headstone's 
attack on Eugene Wrayburn. He uses his knowledge as a means 
of extorting money from Headstone, and at last, by his continued 
demands, drives him to desperation. A quarrel ensues, which 
results in the death of both. (Bk. I, ch. i, vi, xii-xiv ; Bk. H, ch. 
xii-xiv, xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. ii, iii, viii, xi ; Bk. IV, ch. i, vii, xv.) 
See Headstone, Bradley. 

Rokesmith, John. See Harmon, John. 

Rokesmith, Mrs. John. See Harmon, Mrs. John. 

Sampson, George. A young man who is very intimate with the 
Wilfer family. At first he hovers around Miss Bella, but, on her 
betrothal to Mr. John Harmon, transfers his affections to her sister 
Lavinia, who keeps him — partly in remembrance of his bad taste 
in having overlooked her in the first instance — under a course of 
stinging discipline. (Bk. I, ch. iv, ix ; Bk. II, ch. xiv ; Bk. Ill, 
ch. iv, xvi ; Bk. IV, ch. v, xvi.) 



478 ^\>^ JSicltens IBfctfonar^. 

Sloppy, A love-child, found in the street, brought up in the poor- 
house, and adopted by Betty Higden, who keeps him employed in 
turning a mangle. He is afterwards taken into Mr. Boffin's ser- 
vice. (Bk. I, ch xvi ; Bk. II, ch. ix, x, xiv ; Bk. m, ch. ix ; Bk. 
IV, ch. iii, xiv, xvi.) 

Of an ungainly make was Sloppy, — too much of him longwise, too little of 
him broadwise, and too many sharp angles of him anglewise. One of those 
shambling male human creatures, born to be indiscreetly candid in the revela- 
tion of buttons ; every button he had about him glaring at the public to a quite 
oreternatural extent. A considerable capital of knee and elbow, and wrist 
and ankle, had Sloppy; and he did n't know how to dispose of it to the best 
advantage, but was always investing it in wrong securities, and so getting 
himself into embarrassed circumstances. Full-private Number One in the 
Awkward Squad of the rank and file of life was Sloppy, and yet had his glim- 
mering notions of standing true to the colors. 

Snigsworth, Lord. First cousin to Mr. Twemlow ; a nobleman 
with gout in his temper. (Bk. I, ch. ii, x ; Bk. 11, ch. iii, v, xvi ; 
Bk. IV, ch. xvi.) 

Sprodgkin, Mrs. A portentous old parishioner of the Reverend 
Frank Milvey, and the plague of his life. She is constantly wish- 
ing to know who begat whom, or wanting some information con- 
cerning the Amorites. (Bk. IV, ch. xi.) 

She was a member of the Reverend Frank's congregation, and made a point 
of distinguishing herself in that body by conspicuously weeping at every 
thing, however cheering, said by the Reverend Frank in his public ministra- 
tion; also by applying to herself the various lamentations of David, and com- 
plaining, in a personally injured manner (much in arrear of the clerk and the 
rest of the respondents), that her enemies were digging pit-falls about her, and 
breaking her with rods of iron. Indeed, this old widow discharged herself of 
that portion of the morning and evening service as if she were lodging a com- 
plaint on oath, and applying for a warrant before a magistrate. But this was 
not her most inconvenient characteristic ; for that took the form of an impression, 
usually recurring in inclement weather, and at about daybreak, that she had 
something on her mind, and stood in immediate need of the Reverend Frank to 
come and take it off. Many a time had that kind creature got up and gone out to 
Mrs. Sprodgkin (such was the disciple's name), suppressing a strong sense 
of her comicality by his strong sense of duty, and perfectly knowing that nothing 
but a cold would come of it. 

Tapkins, Mrs. A fashionable woman who calls at the door of the 
" eminently aristocratic " mansion to which the Boffins remove from 
the " Bower," and leaves a card for herself. Miss Tapkins, Miss 
Frederica Tapkins, Miss Antonina Tapkins, ISIiss Malvina Tap- 
kins, and Miss Euphemia Tapkins; also the card of Mrs. Henry 
George Alfred Swoshle, nee Tapkins ; also a card, Mrs. Tapkins 
at home Wednesdays, Music, Portland Place. (Bk. I, ch. xvii.) 



©ur l^utual j^rreno. 479 

Tipping, Lady. A friend of the Veneerings, and a member of 
" society ; " relict of the late Sir Thomas Tippins, knighted, by mis- 
take, for somebody else by his Majesty, King George the Third. 
She is a charming old woman, with an immense obtuse, drab, ob- 
long face, like a face in a tablespoon, and a dyed long walk up 
the top of her head, as a convenient public approach to the bunch 
of false hair behind. She affects perennial youth in her dress and 
manners, and exerts herself to fascinate the male sex, especially 
the unmarried portion of it. (Bk. I, ch. ii, x, xvii ; Bk. II, ch. iii, 
xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. xvii.) 

A grisly little fiction concerning her lovers is Lady Tippins's point. She is 
always attended by a lover or two ; and she keeps a little list of her lovers ; and 
the is always booking a new lover, or striking out an old lover, or putting a 
iover in her black list, or promoting a lover to her blue list, or adding up her 
lovers, or otherwise posting her book. 

Toddles. The pet name of a little boy in Mrs. Betty Higden'a 
" minding-school." (Bk. I, ch. xvi.) 

Tootle, Tom. A frequenter of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, 
who is on the point of being married. (Bk. I, ch. vi ; Bk. Ill, ch. 
ii, iii.) 

Twemlow, Mr. Melvin. A friend of the Veneering?, and a 
member of " society." He is poor, and lives over a livery-stable- 
yard in Duke Street, St. James's ; but, being first cousin to Lord 
Snigsworth, he is in frequent requisition, and at many houses 
may be said to represent the dining-table in its normal state. His 
noble relative allows him a small annuity, on which he lives ; and 
takes it out of him, as the phrase goes, in extreme severity ; putting 
him, when he visits at Snigsworthy Park, under a kind of martial 
law ; ordaining that he shall hang his hat on a particular peg, sit 
on a particular chair, talk on particular subjects to particular peo- 
ple, and perform particular exercises, — such as sounding the praises 
of the family varnish (not to say pictures), and abstaining from tho 
choicest of the family wines, unless expressly invited to partake. 
(Bk. I, ch. ii, X, xvii ; Bk. II, ch. iii, xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. xiii ; Bk. 
IV, ch. xvi, xvii.) 

Veneering, Mr. Hamilton. A parvenu, tolerated by " soci* 
ety " on account of his wealth. Formerly traveller or commission- 
agent of Chicksey and Stobbles, druggists, but afterwards admitted 
into the firm, of which he becomes the supreme head, absorbing 
both his partners. He is a man of forty, wavy-haired, dark, tend- 
ing to corpulence, sly, mysterious, £lmy, — a kind of sufficiently 



480 2r!)e Bfcfeens IBitUonux^, 

well-looking veiled prophet, not prophesying. By a liberal expend- 
iture of money, he gets himself returned to the Hbuse of Commons 
from the borough of Pocket-Breaches. (Bk. I, ch. ii, x, xi, xvii ; 
Bk. n, ch. iii, xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. xvii.) 

Mr. and Mrs. Veneering were bran-new people in a bran-new house in a 
bran-new quarter of London. Every thing about the Veneerings was spick-and- 
spau-new. All their furniture was new ; all their friends were new ; all their 
servants were new; their plate was new; their carriage was new; their harness 
was new ; their horses were new ; their pictures were new ; they themselves were 
new; they were as newly married as was lawfully compatible with their having 
a bran-new baby; and, if they had set up a great-grandfather, he would have 
come home in matting from the Pantechnicon, without a scratch upon him, 
French polished to the crown of his head. For in the Veneering establishment, 
from the hall-chairs with the new coat of arms to the grand pianoforte with the 
new action, and up stairs again to the new fire-escape, all things were in a state 
of high varnish and polish. And what was observable in the furniture was 
observable in the Veneerings, — the surface smelt a little too much of the work- 
shop, and was a trifle sticky. 

Veneering, Mrs. Anastasia. His wife ; a fair woman, aqui- 
line nosed and fino-ered, not so much lio-ht hair as she might have, 
gorgeous in raiment and jewels, enthusiastic, propitiatory, conscious 
that a corner of her husband's veil is over herself. (Bk. I, ch. ii, 
X, xi, xvii; Bk. II, ch. iii, xvi; Bk. Ill, ch. xvii; Bk. IV, ch. 
xvii.) 

Venus, Mr. A preserver of animals and birds, and articulator 
of human bones. He becomes a confederate of Mr Weg-or's in his 
plan of blackmailing Mr. Boffin ; but being, on the whole, a very 
honest man, and repenting of what he has done, he makes amends 
by confidentially disclosing the whole plot. His shop in Clerken- 
well, his personal appearance, and the nature of his occupation, are 
described in the following extract : — 

In a narrow and a dirty street . . ., Mr. Wegg selects one dark shop-window, 
with a tallow-candle dimly burning in it, surrounded by a muddle of objects 
vaguely resembling pieces of leather and dry stick, but among which nothing is 
resolvable into any thing distinct, save the candle itself in its old tin candle- 
stick, and two preserved frogs fighting a small-sword duel. Stumping with fresh 
vigor, he goes in at the dark, greasy entry, pushes a little greasy, dark, re- 
luctant side-door, and follows the door into the little dark, greasy shop. It is 
60 dark, that nothing can be made out in it, over a little counter, but another 
tallow-candle in another old tin candlestick, close to the face of a man stooping 
low in a chair. 

Mr. Wegg nods to the face, " Good-evening ! " 

The face looking up is a sallow face, with weak eyes, surmounted by a tangle 
of reddish, dusty hair. The owner of the face has no cravat on, and has opened 
his tumbled shirt-collar to work with the more ease. For the same reason, he 
has no coat on ; only a loose waistQoat over his yellow linen. His eyes are like 



<©ut ptutual :^rfentr. 481 

the overtried eyes of an engraver ; but he is not that : his expression and stoop 
are like those of a shoemaker; but he is not that. 

" Good-evening, Mr. Venus I Don't you remember ? " 

With slowly-dawning remembrance, Mr. Venus rises, and holds his candle 
over the little counter, and holds it down towards the legs, natural and artifi- 
cial, of Mr. Wegg. 

" To be sure ! " he says then. " How do you do ? " 

" Wegg, you know," that gentleman explains. 

*' Yes, yes," says the other. " Hospital amputation ? " 

" Just so," says Mr. Wegg. 

"Yes, yes," quoth Venus. "How do you do? Sit down by the fire, and 
warm your — your other one. . . . My tea is drawing, and my muffin is on the 
aobb, Mr. Wegg : will you partake ? " 

It being one of Mr. Wegg's guiding rules in life always to partake, he says 
he will. But the little shop is so excessively dark, is stuck so full of black 
shelves and brackets and nooks and corners, that he sees Mr. Venus's cup and 
saucer only because it is close under the candle, and does not see from what 
mysterious recess Mr. Venus produces another for himself, until it is under his 
nose. Concurrently, Wegg perceives a pretty little dead bird lying on the counter, 
with its head drooping on one side against the rim of Mr. Venus's saucer, and a 
long, stiff wire piercing its breast, — as if it were Cock Robin, the hero of the 
ballad ; and Mr. Venus were the sparrow, with his bow and arrow ; and Mr. Wegg 
were the fly with his little eye. . . . As the muffins disappear, little by little, the 
black shelves and nooks and corners begin to appear, and Mr. Wegg gradually 
acquires an imperfect notion that over against him, on the chimney-piece, is a 
Hindoo baby in a bottle, curved up, with his big head tucked under him, as though 
he would instantly throw a summersault if the bottle were large enough. . . . 

At this moment the greasy door is violently pushed inward; and a boy follows 
it, who says, after having let it slam, — 

" Come for the stuffed canary." 

" It 's three and ninepence," returns Venus. " Have you got the money ? " 

The boy produces four shillings. Mr. Venus, always in exceedingly low spirits, 
and making whimpering sounds, peers about for the stuffed canary. On his taking 
the candle to assist his search, Mr. Wegg observes that he has a convenient little 
shelf near his knees, exclusively appropriated to skeleton hands, which have very 
much the appearance of wanting to lay hold of him. From these Mr. Venus 
rescues the canary in a glass case, and shows it to the boy. 

"There I" he whimpers. "There 's animation I On a twig, making up his 
mind to hop I Take care of him : he's a lovely specimen. — And three is four." 

The boy gathers up his change, and has pulled the door open by a leather strap 
nailed to it for the purpose, when Venus cries out, — 

" Stop him I Come back, you young villain I You 've got a tooth among them 
halfpence." 

" How was I to know I 'd got it ? You give it me. I don't want none of your 
teeth : I 've got enough of my own." So the boy pipes as he selects it from his 
change, and throws it on the counter. 

" Don't sauce me in the wicious pride of your youth," Mr. Venus retorts pathet- 
ically. Don't hit Tne because you see I 'm down. I 'm low enough without that. It 
dropped into the till, I suppose. They drop into every thing. There was two in 
the coffee-pot at breakfast-time, — molars." 

" Very well, then," argues the boy, " what do you call names for ? " 

To which Mr. Venus only replies, shaking his shock of dusty hair, and winking 
41 



482 Sr!)e iSfcltens ISfctfonatv. 

his weak eyes, "Don't sauce me in the wicious pride of your youth ; don't hit me 
because you see I 'm down. You 've no idea how small you 'd come out if I had 
the articulating of you." 

This consideration seems to have its effect on the boy; for he goes out grum- 
bling. 

" Oh, dear me, dear me I " sighs Mr. Venus heavily, snuflBng the candle, " the 
world that appeared so flowery has ceased to blow I You 're casting your eye 
round the shop, Mr. Wegg. Let me show you a light. My working-bench. My 
young man's bench. A wice. Tools. Bones, warious. Skulls, warious. Pre- 
served Indian baby. African ditto. Bottled preparations, warious. Every 
thing within reach of your hand in good preservation. The mouldy ones a-top. 
"What 's in those hampers over them again, I don't quite remember. Say, hu- 
man warious. Cats. Articulated English baby. Dogs. Ducks. Glass eyes, 
warious. Mummied bird. Dried cuticle, warious. Oh, dear me 1 That 's the 
general panoramic view." 

(Bk. I, ch. vii ; Bk. 11, ch. vii ; Bk. m, ch. vi, vii, xiv ; Bk. IV, 
ch. iii, xiv.) 

Wegg, Silas. A ballad-monger, who also keeps a fruit- stall, near 
Cavendish Square. 

Assuredly this stall of Silas Wegg's was the hardest little stall of all the ster- 
ile little stalls in London. It gave you the face-ache to look at his apples, the 
stomach-ache to look at his oranges, the tooth-aclie to look at his nuts. Of the 
latter commodity he had always a grim little heap, on which lay a little wooden 
measure, which had no discernible inside, and was considered to represent the 
penn'orth appointed by Magna Ciiarta. Whether from too much east wind or 
no, — it was an easterly corner, — the stall, the stock, and the keeper were all as 
dry as the desert. Wegg was a knotty man, and a close-grained, with a face 
carved out of very hard material, that had just as much play of expression as a 
watchman's rattle. "When he laughed, certain jerks occurred in it, and the 
rattle sprung. Sooth to say, he was so wooden a man, that lie seemed to have 
taken his wooden leg naturally, and rather suggested to the fanciful observer, 
that he might be expected -^ if his development received no untimely check — 
to be completely set up with a pair of wooden legs in about six montlis. 

Mr. Boffin thinking himself too old " to bes-in shovellino- and 
sifting at alphabeds and grammar-books," and wanting to engage 
some one to read to him, is attracted by Mr. Wegg's collection of 
ballads displayed on an unfolded clothes-horse. He enters into con- 
versation vrith the proprietor, and, when he finds that " all print is 
open to him," is filled with admiration of him as being " a litfirary 
man with a wooden leg." 

" \VTiy, truly, sir," Mr. Wegg admitted with modesty, " I believe you could 
n't show me the piece of English print, that I would n't be equal to collaring 
and throwing." 

'' On the spot ?" said Mr. Boffin. 

" On the spot." 

" I know'd it I Then consider this. Here am I, a man without a wooden 
leg; and yet all print is shut to me." 



®ut ptutual ifrfentj. 483 

"Indeed, sir?'* Mr. Wegg returned with an increasing self-complacency. 
'* Education neglected ? " 

*' Neglected I " repeated Boffin with emphasis. *' That ain't no word for it. J 
don't mean to say but what, if you showed me a B, I could so far give you change 
for it as to answer Boffin." 

" Come, come, sir," said Mr. Wegg, throwing in a little encouragement, " that 'a 
something too." 

"It 's something," answered Mr. Boffin; "but I 'U take my oath it ain't 
much." 

After some further conversation, and some ciphering, Mr. Boffin 
offers Mr. Wegg half a crown a week to read to him two hours every 
evening. 

Pointing to this result as a large and satisfactory one, Mr. Boffin smeared it out 
with his moistened glove, and sat down on the remains. 

" Half a crown," said Wegg, meditating. " Yes. (It ain't much, sir.) Half a 
crown ! " 

" Per week, you know." 

" Per week. Yes. As to the amount of strain upon the intellect now. Was 
you thinking at all of poetry ? " Mr. Wegg inquired, musing. 

" Would it come dearer ? " Mr. Boffin asked. 

"It would come dearer," Mr. Wegg returned; "for, when a person comes to 
grind off poetry night after night, it is but right he should expect to be paid for its 
weakening effect on his mind." 

" To tell you the truth, Wegg," said Boffin, " I was n't thinking of poetry, ex- 
cept in so far as this : if you was to happen now and then to feel yourself in the 
mind to tip me and Mrs. Boffin one of your ballads, why, then, we should drop 
Into poetry." 

" I follow you, sir," said Wegg; " but, not being a regular musical professional, 
I should be loath to engage myself for that; and therefore, when I dropped into 
poetry, I should ask to be considered so fur in the light of a friend." 

At this Mr. Boffin's eyes sparkled; and he shook Silas earnestly by the hand, 
protesting that it was more than he could have asked, and that he took it very 
kindly indeed. 

" What do you think of the terms, Wegg ? " Mr. Boffin then demanded with 
unconcealed anxiety. 

Silas, who had stimulated this anxiety by his hard reserve of manner, and who 
had begun to understand his man very well, replied, with an air as if he was say» 
ing something extraordinarily generous and great, — 

" Mr. Boffin, I never bargain." 

" So I should have thought of you," said Mr. Boffin admiringly. 

"No, sir, I never did 'aggie, and I never will 'aggie. Consequently I meet you 
at once, free and fair, with : Done for double the money f " 

Mr. Boffin seemed a little unprepared for this conclusion, but assented, with the 
remark, " You know better what it ought to be than I do, Wegg," and again shook 
hands with him upon it. 

" Could you begin to-night, Wegg ? " he then demanded. 

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Wegg, careful to leave all the eagerness to him. " I see 
no difficulty if you wish it. You are provided with the needful implement, — a 
^ook, sir?" 

"Bought him at a sale," said Mr. Boffii.. " Eight woUumes. Red and gold 



484 STJe Bfcfeens iSfctfonars. 

Purple ribbon in every wollume to keep the place where you leave off. Do you 

know him?" 

" The book's name, sir ? " inquired Silas. 

" I thought you might have know'd him without it," said Mr. Boffin, slightly 
disappointed. " His name is ' Decline-and-Fall-Off-the-Rooshan-Empire.'" (Mr. 
Boffin went over these stones slowly and with much caution.) 

" Ay, indeed 1 " said Mr. Wegg, nodding his head with an air of friendly recog- 
nition. 

" You know him, Wegg ? >' 

" I have n't been not to say right slap through him very lately," Mr. Wegg 
made answer, " having been otherways employed, Mr. Boffin. But know him? 
Old familiar declining and falling oflf the Rooshan I Rather, sir I Ever since I was 
not so high as your stick. Ever since my eldest brother left our cottage to enlist 
into the army. On which occasion, as the ballad that was made about it de- 
scribes, — 

" Beside that cottage-door, Mr. BoflBn, 
A girl was on her knees : 
She held aloft a snowy scarf, sir, 
Which (my eldest brother noticed) fluttered in the breeze. 

She breathed a prayer for him, Mr. BoflSn; 

A prayer he could not hear : 
And my eldest brother lean'd upon his sword, Mr. Boffin, 

And wiped away a tear." 

Much impressed by this family circumstance, and also by the friendly dispo- 
sition of Mr. Wegg, as exemplified in his so soon dropping into poetry, Mr. Bof- 
fin again shook hands with that ligneous sharper, and besought him to name his 
hour. Mr. Wegg named eight. 

" I shall expect you, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, clapping him on the shoulder with 
the greatest enthusiasm, " most joyfully. I shall have no peace or patience till 
you come. Print is now opening ahead of me. This night, a literary man, icith 
a wooden leg." — he bestowed an admiring look upon that decoration, as if it 
greatly enhanced the relish of Mr. Wegg's attainments, — " will begin to lead me 
a new life. My fist again, Wegg: morning, morning, morning! " 

; When night comes, Mr. Wegg stumps it to the Bower, according to 
appointment. After introduction to IMrs. Boffin, and a little prelimi- 
nary conversation, Mr. Boffin inquires, — 

'' Now, what 'U you read on ? " 

" Thank you, sirj" returned Wegg, as if there were nothing new in his reading 
at all. " I generally do it on gin and water." 

" Keeps the organ moist, does it, Wegg ? " asked Mr. Boffin with innocent eager- 
ness. 

" N-no, sir," replied Wegg coolly : " I should hardly describe it so, sir. I should 
Bay mellers it. Mellers it is the word I should employ, Mr. Boffin." . . . And 
now, Mr. Wegg at length . . . put on his spectacles ; and Mr. Boffin lighted his 
pipe, and looked with beaming eyes into the opening world before him ; and Mrs. 
Boffin reclined in a fashionable manner on her sofa, as one who would be part of 
the audience if she found she could, and would go to sleep if she found she could 
n't. 

"' Hem I " began Wegg. " This, Mr. Boffin and Lady, is the first chapter of the 
first wollume of ' The Decline and Fall off " ' — here .he looked hard at the book, 
and stopped. 



®ur ptutual JFrfenlr. 485 

** What '3 the matter, Wegg ? " 

" Why, it comes into my mind, do you know, sir," said Wegg with an air of 
insinuating frankness (having first again looked hard at the book), " that you 
made a little mistake this morning, which I had meant to set you right in, only 
something put it out of ray head. I think you said Booshan Empire, sir ? " 

" It is Rooshan ; ain't it, Wegg ? " 

" No, sir. Koman, Roman." 

" What 's the difference, Wegg ? " 

" The difference, sir ? " Mr. Wegg was faltering, and in danger of breaking 
down, when a bright thought flashed upon him. '• The difference, sir ? There 
you place me in a diflficulty, Mr. Boflin. SuflSce it to observe, that the difference 
is best postponed to some other occasion, when Mrs. Boffin does not honor us 
with her company. In Mrs. Boffin's presence, sir, we had better drop it." 

Mr. Wegg thus came out of his disadvantage with quite a chivalrous air ; and 
not only that, but by dint of repeating with a manly delicacy, " In Mrs. Boffin's 
presence, sir, we had better drop it," turned the disadvantage on Boffin, who 
felt that he had committed himself in a very painful manner. 

Then Mr. Wegg, in a dry, unflinching way, entered on his task ; going straight 
across country at every thing that came before him; taking all the hard words, 
biographical and geographical; getting rather shaken by Hadrian, Trajan, and 
the Antonines ; stumbling at Poly bins (pronounced Polly Beeious, and supposed 
by Mr. Boffin to be a Roman virgin, and by Mrs. Boffin to be responsible for 
that necessity of dropping it) ; heavily unseated by Titus Antoninus Pius ; up 
again and galloping smoothly with Augustus ; finally, getting over the ground 
well with Commodus, who, under the appellation of Commodious, was held by 
Mr. Boffin to have been quite unworthy of his English origin, and " not to have 
acted up to his name " in his government of the Roman people. With the death 
of this personage Mr. Wegg terminated his first reading. 

Mr. Wegor turns out to be a rascal. Not restino; satisfied with 
the salary which he receives from Mr. Boffin, he tries to better his 
condition by knavery. Prying everywhere about the premises, he 
at last discovers a will in which the elder Mr. Harmon leaves all 
his property to the crown. Ascertaining that this will is of later 
date than the one in Mr. Boffin's favor, which has been admitted to 
probate, he conspires with an acquaintance (Mr. Venus), either to 
oust Mr. Boffin, or to compel him to buy them off. He finds, to his 
astonishment, however, that there is a still later will in the posses- 
sion of Mr. Boffin, who has suppressed it because it leaves him all 
the property ; while the one which has been proved leaves it to the 
testator's son on the condition of his marrying Miss Bella Wilfer. 
Discomfited and crestfallen, the avaricious Wegg returns, peribrce, 
to his old trade of selling ballads, gingerbread, ^and the like. (Bk. I, 
ch. V, vli, XV, xvii ; Bk. H, ch. vii, x ; Bk. IH, ch. vi, vii, xiv ; Bk. 
IV, ch. iii, xiv.) 
Wilfer, Miss Bella. Daughter of Reginald Wilfer, and protegee 
of the Boffins ; afterwards the wife of John Harmon. (Bk. I, ch, 

41* 



i86 S?)^ JBicfeens ©fctfonarg. 

iv, ix, xvi, xvii ; Bk. II, ch. viii-x, xiii ; Bk. Ill, ch. iv, v, vii, ix, 
XV, xvi ; Bk. IV, ch. iv, v, xi-xiii, xvi.) See Boffin, Mr. Nico- 

DEMUS. 

Wilfer, Miss Lavinia, Youngest of Mr. Wilfer's children ; a 
sharp, saucy, and irrepressible girl. (Bk. I, ch. iv, ix ; Bk. II, ch. 
j, ix, xiii ; Bk. Ill, ch. iv, xvi ; Bk. IV, ch. v, xvi.) 

Wilfer, Reginald, called The Cherub. A poor henpecked 
clerk in the drug-house of Cliicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles. 

So poor a clerk, though having a limited salary and an unlimited family, that 
he had never yet attained the modest object of his ambition, which w^as to w^ear a 
complete new suit of clothes, hat and boots included, at one time. His black hat 
was brown before he could afford a coat ; his pantaloons were white at the seams 
and knees before he could buy a pair of boots ; his boots had worn out before he 
could treat himself to new pantaloons ; and, by the time he worked round to 
the bat again, that shining modern article roofed-in an ancient ruin of various 
periods. 

If the conventional Cherub could ever grow up and be clothed, he might 
be pliotographed as a portrait of Wilfer. His chubby, smooth, innocent ap- 
pearance was a reason for his being always treated with condescension when he 
was not put down. A stranger entering his own poor house at about ten o' 
clock, p. M., might have been surprised to find him sitting up to supper. So boy- 
ish was he in his curves and proportions, that his old schoolmaster, meeting him 
in Cheapside, might have been unable to withstand the temptation of caning 
him on tlie spot. ... 

He was shy, and unwilling to own to the name of Reginald, as being too as- 
piring and self-assertive a name. In his signature, he used only the letter R., and 
imparted what it really stood for to none but chosen friends, under the seal of 
confidence. Out of this, the facetious habit had arisen, in the neighborhood sur- 
rounding Mincing Lane, of making Christian names for him of adjectives and 
participles beginning with R. Some of these were more or less appropriate, as 
Rusty, Retiring, Ruddy, Round, Ripe, Ridiculous, Ruminative: others derived 
their point from their want of application, as Raging, Rattling, Roaring, Raf- 
fish. But his popular name was Rumty, which, in a moment of inspiration, had 
been bestowed upon him by a gentleman of convivial habits connected with tho 
drug-market, as the beginning of a social chorus, his leading part in the execu- 
tion of which had led this gentleman to the Temple of Fame, and of which the 
whole expressive burden ran — 

" Rumty, iddity, row dow dow. 
Sing toodlely, teedlely, bow wow wow." 

Thus he was constantly addressed, even in minor notes on business, as " Dear 
Rumty," in answer to which he sedately signed himself, " Yours truly, R. 
Wilfer." 

(Bk. I, ch. iv ; Bk. 11, ch. viii, xiii ; Bk. Ill, ch. iv, xvi ; Bk. IV, 

ch. iv, V, xvi.) 

Wilfer, Mrs. Reginald. His wife ; a tall, angular woman, very 

stately and impressive. (Bk. I, ch. iv, ix, xvi ; Bk. 11, ch. i, ix, 

xiii ; Bk, III, ch. iv, xvi ; Bk. IV, ch. v, xvi.) 



©ur P^utual jFrienti. 487 

Her lord being cherubic, she was necessarily majestic, according to the prin- 
ciple whicli matrimonially unites contrasts. She was much given to tying up 
her head in a pocket-handkerchief knotted under her chin. This head-gear, in 
conjunction with a pair of gloves worn within doors, she seemed to consider 
as at once a kind of armor against misfortune (invariably assuming it when in 
low spirits or difficulties), and as a species of full dress. 

Williams, William. A frequenter of the Six Jolly Fellowship 

Porters. (Bk. I. ch. vi ; Bk. Ill, ch. iii.) 
Wrayburn, Eugene. A briefless barrister, who hates his profes- 

ion. He is a gloomy, indolent, unambitious, and reckless young 

man. 

" Idiots talk," said Eugene, leaning back, folding his arms, smoking with 
his eyes shut, and speaking slightly through his nose, " of energy. If there is 
a word in the dictionary, under any letter from A to Z, that I abominate, it is 
'energy.' It is such a conventional superstition I such parrot gabble I What 
the dense I — Am I to rush out into the street, collar the first man of a wealthy 
appearance that I meet, shake him, and say, ' Go to law upon the spot, you 
dog, and retain me, or I '11 be the death of you ? ' Yet that would be en- 
ergy." 

Becoming interested in Lizzie Hexam, he assists her to obtain 
an education ; and, though he seeks her society, hq, does so with 
no definite aim in view. He tells his friend, Mortimer Li^ht- 
wood, — 

" There is no better girl in all this London than Lizzie Hexam. There is no 
better among my people at home ; no better among your people." 

" Granted. What foUows ? " 

" There," said Eugene, looking after him dubiously as he paced away to the 
other end of the room : " you put me again upon guessing the riddle that I 
have given up." 

" Eugene, do you design to capture and desert this girl?" 

" My dear fellow, no." 

" Do you design to marry her ? " 

"My dear fellow, no." 

" Do you design to pursue her ? " 

" My dear fellow, I don't design any thing. I have no design whatever. I 
am incapable of designs. If I conceived i. design, I should speedily abandon 
it, exhausted by the operation." 

" O Eugene, Eugene I " 

" My dear Mortimer, not that tone of melancholy reproach, I entreat. Whst 
can I do more than tell you all I know, and acknowledge my ignorance of all I 
don't know ? How does that little old song go, which, under pretence of being 
cheerful, is by far the most lugubrious 1 ever heard in my life ? 

'Away with melancholy. 
Nor doleful changes ring 
On life and human folly, 
But merrily, merrily sing, 

Falla I ' 

Don't let me sing Fal la, my dear Mortimer (which is comparatively unmean* 
Ing), but let us sing that we give up guessing the riddle altogether." 



488 5Ci)e Bicfeens Bfctfonarg. 

*' Ave you in communication with this girl, Eugene ? and is what these 
people say true ? " 

" I concede both admissions to my honorable and learned friend." 

" Then what is to come of it ? What are you doing ? Where are you 
going ? " 

" My dear Mortimer, . . . you are ruffled by the want of another cigar. 
Take one of these, I entreat. Light it at mine, which is in perfect order. 
Sol Now do me the justice to observe that I am doing all I can towards 
self-improvement, and that you have a light thrown on those liousehold im- 
plements, which, when you only saw them as in a glass darkly, you were 
hastily — I must say hastily — inclined to depreciate. Sensible of my deficien- 
cies, I have surrounded myself with moral influences expressly meant to pro- 
mote the formation of the domestic virtues. To those influences, and to the 
improving society of my friends from boyhood, commend me with your best 
wishes." 

''Ah, Eugene I" said Lightwood aflfectionately, now standing near him, so 
that they both stood in one little cloud of smoke : " I would that you answered 
my three questions. What is to come of it? What are you doing? Where 
are you going ? " 

" And my dear Mortimer," returned Eugene, lightly fanning away the smoke 
with his hand for the better exposition of his frankness of face and manner, 
" believe me, I would answer them instantly if I could. But, to enable me to do 
so, I must first have found out the troublesome conundrum long abandoned. 
Here it is ; Eugene Wrayburn." Tapping his forehead and breast. " * Riddle- 
me, ridddle-me-ree, perhaps you can't tell me what this may be ? ' No, upon 
my life I can't. I give it up." 

Lizzie saves Wrayburn's life with wonderful energy and ad- 
dress, nurses him tenderly through a long and dangerous sick- 
ness, is married to him, and finds that, transformed by the power of 
love, he has a mine of purpose and energy which he turns to the 
best account. (Bk. I, ch. ii, iii, viii, x, xii-xiv ; Bk. II, ch. i, iii, vi, 
xi, xiv-xvi ; Bk. Ill, ch. x, xi, xvii ; Bk. IV, ch. i, vi, ix-xi, xvi,. 
xvii.) 

Wrayburn, Mrs. Eugene. See Hexam, Lizzie. 

Wren, Jenny. See Cleaver, Fannt. 



®ur pCutual jFtientx. 489 



PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 



BOOK I. — Chapter I. Jesse Hexam and his daughter find a body in the Thames; 
ho rejects Riderhood's offer to share his luck. — II. Description of the Veneering dinner, 
where Mortimer Lightwood relates the story of John Harmon and his will, and receives 
the news of the death of the heir by drowning. —III. Mortimer and Eugene go to Hex- 
am's house to malte inquiries about the body, and encounter Mr. Julius Handford; they 
all go to the police-station to view the body, and Mr. Handford lays himself open to sus- 
picion; Lizzie Hexam shows Charley the pictures in the fire ; verdict of the coroner's 
jury. —IV. John Rokesmith engages lodgings at the house of Mr. Wilfer. — V.Silas Wegg, 
tending his stall at the street-corner, is accosted by Mr. Boffin, and Mr. Boffln engages 
him to read " The Decline and Fall; " Mr. Wegg visits Boffin's Bower, and commences his 
readings. — VI. Miss Abbey Totterson forbids Rogue Riderhood to visit the Six Jolly Fel- 
lowship Porters ; Miss Abbey informs Lizzie Hexam of the suspicions against her father, 
and counsels her to leave him ; Lizzie refuses to do this, and Miss Abbey forbids him also 
the house; Charley Hexam leaves home for school without his father's knowledge. — VII. 
Mr. Wegg calls upon Mr. Venus to "look after himself; " Mr. Venus puts a low value on the 
amputated leg of Wegg, and also explains to that gentleman the reason of his low 
spirits. — VIII. Mr. Boffin visits Lightwood at his office in the Temple, and instructs him 
to offer a reward of £10,000 for the discovery of the murderer of Harmon ; he is introduced 
to Eugene W ray burn ; John Rokesmith applies to Mr. Boffin for the situation of secretary. 

— IX. Mr. and Mrs. Boffin in consultation ; decide to " go in strong " for fashion, to invite 
Miss Bella Wilfer to live with them, and to adopt an orphan-child and give him John 
Harmon's name; Mr. and Mrs. Boffin visit the Rev. Frank Milvey in search of an orphan, 
and also the Wilfersto tender tlieir invitation to Miss Bella; Mr. Rokesmith's agitation at 
unexpectedlj' hearing John Harmon's name. — X. The Veneerings plan the marriage of 
Mr. Alfred Lammle and Miss Sophronia Aker.sham, and Twemlow gives away the bride; 
finding they have been mutually imposed upon, they enter into a new " marriage-con- 
tract," to deceive the world. — XI. What constitutes " Podsnappery ; " Mr. and Mrs. 
Podsnap give a party on Miss Georgiana's birthdaj'; Mrs. Lammle begins her friendship 
Willi Georgiana. — XII. Riderhood goes to Lightwood's office, and accuses Hexam of the 
Harmon murder; Lightwood, Wraybum, and the inspector go to the Fellowship Porters, 
while Riderhood tracks Hexam. — XIII. Eugene discovers Lizzie Hexam through the 
window, watching by the fire. — XIV. They find Hexam's boat and his drowned body. 

— XV. John Rokesmith enters upon his duties as Mr. Boffin's secretary ; Mr. Boffin places 
Wegg in charge of the Bower; Mrs. Boffin sees the faces of the old man and the children : 
Rokesmith objects to meeting Mr. Lightwood. — XVI. Mrs. Boffln and the secretary go to 
see the orphan at Betty Higden's.— XVII. Charley Hexam asking permission to go and 
see his sister, his schoolmaster decides to go with him. 

BOOK 11, — Chapteb I. Miss Peecher catechises Marj' Anne on her parts of speech; 
Charley Hexam and Bradley Headstone make the acquaintance of Miss Jenny Wren, 
who gives them an account of her occupation ; first meeting of Bradley Headstone and 
Lizzie Hexam ; leaving Lizzie, they encounter Wrayburn. — II. Eugene calls upon Lizzie, 
and persuades her to receive instruction at his expense ; Jenny's fancies ; Jenny's father 
comes home intoxicated, and she reprimands him. — III. Veneering's friends " rall3' round 
him," and he is elected to parliament. — IV. The Lammles improve the acquaintance of 
Miss Georgiana Podsnap, and introduce her to Fascination Fledgeby. — V. Mr. Lammlo 
breakfasts with Fledgeby at his rooms, and, not liking that gentleman's manner, threatens 
to pull his nose; Fledgeby apologizes, and reconciliation follows; Fledgeby goes to the 
house at St. Mary Axe, where he does business under the name of Pubsey <fe Co., and 
meets Riah, his Jewish agent; Riah shows him Lizzie Hexam and Jenny Wren on the 
housetop. — VI. Eugene and Mortimer, in their private chambers, are visited by the 
ichoolmaster and Charley Hexam; Hexam reproaches Eugene for his attentions to 



490 ^t)e IBlcttnu Bfctfonats* 

Lizzie ; Eugene exasperates them by his coolness, and gives up Mortimer's riddle, " Wliat 
is to come of it? " —VII. Mr. "Wegg and Mr. Venus enter into a " friendly move " in re- 
gard to thedust-mounds. — Vni. Miss Bella Wilfer visits her father's house; Mr. Boffin- 
sends her a purse containing £50, and she spends it for the benefit of her father.— IX. 
Sickness of Johnny the adopted orphan ; his removal to the Children's Hospital, where 
he "makes hiswill,"and dies. —X. Mr. and Mrs. Boffln decide to provide for Sloppy.— XI. 
Bradley Headstone appeals to Lizzie Hexam to renounce Wraybum'8 attentions ; Lizzie 
tells Jenny -what the lady "in the hollow down by the flare " says of Eugene. — XII. 
Bokesmith, in disguise, goes to Rogue Riderhood's house ; his interviews, first with Miss 
Pleasant, and then with her father. — XIII. Rokesmith removes his disguise, and repeats to 
himself the circumstances attending the supposed death of John Harmon, and decides 
still to retain his assumed character; as the secretary, he offers himself to Bella, and is 
rejected. — XIV. Betty Higden develops to the secretary her plan for running away; 
Rokesmith completes his plan of forcing from Riderhood a recantation of his testimony 
against Hexam, and sends the same to Lizzie; and Betty Higden completes her arrange- 
ments for running away. — XV. Bradley Headstone, seconded by Charley Hexam, seeks 
Lizzie again, oflfers himself, and is rejected; Charley's indignation, and renunciation of 
his sister ; Lizzie is met by Riah, and afterwards by Eugene, who take her home. — XVI. 
The Lamrales celebrate the anniversary of their wedding by a breakfast ; Lightwood con- 
tinues his story by relating the disappearance of Lizzie Hexam ; Mrs. Lammle begs Twcm- 
low to warn Podsnap against Fledgeby. 

BOOK III. — ChaptebI. Riah goes to Fledgeby 's chambers ; Lammle also calls there, 
and informs Fledgeby that their game is up ; Fledgeby cautions Lammle against Riah, 
nnd tries to draw from Riah the secret of Lizzie Hexam's retreat. — II. Riah and Jenny 
"Wren go to the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters to show Miss Abbey Potterson Riderhood's 
declaration of Hexam's innocence of the Harmon murder ; Riderhood is run down by a 
steamer, and —III. is barely saved from drowning. — IV. Mr. and Mrs. Wilfer celebrate their 
wedding-anniversary; Bella tells her father four secrets. —V. Mr. Boffln defines Roke- 
smith's position ; he begins to collect " The Lives of Misers;" Mrs. Lammle improves 
Bella's acquaintance, and Bella confides to her the secret of the secretary's proposal. — 
VI. "Wegg and Venus, discussing their friendly move at the Bower, are visited by Mr. Bof- 
fin with a load of books on misers; Mr. BofiSn, with a dark lantern, makes the tour of the 
mounds, the friends watching him; he digs up and carries away a glass bottle. — VII. 
Wegg imparts to Venus the secret of his having found a will of the late John Harmon in 
the pump; they carry this will to Mr. Venus's place to examine it, and Venus insists 
upon keeping it; they discuss the course to be pursued. —VIII. Betty Higden on her 
travels ; her fainting-fit in the market-place ; and the second one, in which she is relieved 
by Riderhood, serving as deputy lock-keeper; her discovery by Lizzie Hexam, and her 
death. — IX. Lizzie tells Bella her story, and the reason of her concealment; Bella and 
thesecretary on better terms; Eugene Wray burn tries unsuccessfully to obtain Lizzie's 
address from Jenny Wren. — X. Mr. Dolls promises to obtain the direction for him; 
Eugene informs Lightwood of his being watched by the schoolmaster, and they indulge in 
the pleasures of the chase. — XI. Headstone and Riderhood meet at the Temple gate. — XII. 
Mr. and Mrs. Lammle, having broken down in their scheme against the Podsnaps, turn 
their attention to the Bofflns; Mrs. Lammle begs Fledgeby to use his influence with Riah. 
— XIII. He acts accordingly ; Fledgeby also intercedes for Twemlow, and opens the 
eyes of Jenny Wren. — XIV. Venus makes known to Mr. Boffin the friendly move of Silas 
Wegg; Mr. Boffin, concealed by Venus, hears Wegg's plan of bringing his nose to the 
grindstone ; interview between Mrs. Lammle and Mr. Boffln. — XV. Mr. Boffin denounces 
Rokesmith, and sees Bella righted ; Bella's indignation at Mr. Boffin, and her apology to 
the secretary ; Bella relinquishes all she has received from the Boffins, and secretly leaves 
the house. — XVI. She goes to her father's office, where Rokesmith follows her, whose 
love slie now accepts. — XVII. Mrs. Lammle reminds Twemlow of their confidence; 
Mr. Dolls brings Wraybum the desired address. 

BOOK IV. — Chapter I. Eugene in his boat passes the Plashwater Weir ^Mill Lock, 
kept by Riderhood; he is followed by Bradley Headstone in the disguise of a bargeman; 
Bradley witnesses the meeting of Eugene with Lizzie Hexam, and returns to the lock; 
Riderhood couflrms his suspicion that the schoolmaster is copying his dress in his disguise. 



©ur if^utual SfxUnn, 491 

•- n. Mr. and Mrs. Lammle breakfast with the Bofflns ; their plot Is understood, and their 
plans frustrated. — III. Wegg" drops down " on Mr. Boflln, and, after showing him the 
will, sees him home. — IV. John Rokesmith and Bella are married; how Mrs. Wilfer 
received the news. — V. Bella's housekeeping. — "VI. Eugene and Lizzie meet by appoint- 
ment on the river-bank; he urges his suit, but Lizzie firmly declines to encourage him, on 
account of the difference of their positions in society, and begs him to leave her; Eugene, 
walking by the river after their interview, is assaulted by Headstone, and his body thrown 
into the water ; he Is rescued by Lizzie. — VII. Bradley Headstone returns to the lock- 
house ; he is dogged by Riderhood, who sees him resume his own dress, and throw his 
disguise into the river; Charley Hexam upbraids Headstone, and drops his acquaintance ; 
Rogue Riderhood catches his fish. — VIII. Fledgeby attempts to learn from Jenny Wren 
the place of Lizzie Hexam's retreat; Fledgeby is caned by Lammle, and has his wounds 
dressed by Jennj*.— IX. Jenny comes to an understanding of Riah's true character; 
Fledgeby sends Riah his discharge; death of Jenny's father; Mortimer desires Jenny's 
presence at the bedside of Eugene. —X. Jenny divines that Eugene wishes to marry Lizzie. 
— XI. Bradley Headstone's meeting with Rev. Mr. Milvey, and agitation at the news of 
Lizzie's approaching marriage; the marriage of Eugene and Lizzie. — XII. Rokesmith 
encounters Lightwood, and is recognized as Julius Handford ; John goes with the in- 
spector of police and Bella to the Fellowship Porters on a matter of identification; John 
takes Bella to their new home in London. — XIII. Mrs. Boffln relates to Bella the story of 
her husband's identity, how she had found him out, and how they had planned to test her 
love for him. — XIV. "Wegg finds Venus in improved spirits, and appoints a time for bring- 
ing Boffin to the grindstone ; Wegg finds his friendly move checkmated, and is finally dis- 
posed of by Sloppy.— XV. Riderhood visits Headstone in his school; Headstone goes to 
Ridcrhood's lock, and refuses his demands; finding he cannot get rid of him, he seizes him, 
forces him into the lock, and both are drowned. — XVI. Mrs. Wilfer, with Miss Lavinia 
and George Sampson, visit Bella in her new home ; first interview between Sloppy and 
Jenny Wren ; Mr. and Mrs. Wraybum visit Mr. and Mrs. John Harmon. — XVII. Mor 
timer takes a final look at society. 



JHottor ittortgolb. 



OKiGiNALLr published as part of the collection of tales entitled " Doctor Mari* 
gold's Prescriptions," which formed the regular Christmas number of " All the 
Year Round " for 1865. The story takes its name from a " Cheap Jack," or travel- 
ling auctioneer, who relates in a most natural and entertaining way the history of 
his life. 



GHABAGTER8 INTBODUGED, 

Joskin. A chuckle-headed country-fellow, who volunteers a bid of 
twopence for Doctor Marigold's sick child, when he appears with 
her on the foot-board of his cart. 

Marigold, Doctor. The narrator of the story. He describes him- 
self as " a middle-aged man, of a broadish build, in cords, leggings, 
and a sleeved waistcoat, the strings of which is always gone behind," 
with a white hat, and a shawl round his neck, worn loose and easy. 
He is a " Cheap Jack," or itinerant auctioneer, born on the high- 
way, and named " Doctor " out of gratitude and compliment to his 
mother's accoucheur. He marries, and has one child, a little girl, 
but loses both daughter and wife, and continues his travels alone. 
Coming across a deaf-and-dumb child, however, who, he fancies, 
resembles his lost daughter, he adopts her, and sends her to a school 
for deaf-mutes, to be educated \ but she falls in love with a young 
man who is also deaf and dumb, and he is forced to give her up. 
She sails for China with her husband, but returns, after an absence 
of a few years, bringing with her a little daughter who can both 
hear and talk ; and the measure of the Doctor's happiness is once 
more full. 

492 



Boctor i^ataciaolTi. 493 

Idarigold, Mrs. Wife of Doctor Marigold; a Suffolk young 
woman whom he courted from the footboard of his cart. 

She was n't a bad wife ; but she had a temper. If she could have parted 
with that one article at a sacrifice, I would n't have swopped her away in ex- 
change for any other woman in England. Not that I ever did swop her away; 
for we lived together till she died, and that was thirteen year. Now, my lords 
and ladies and gentlefolks all, I '11 let you into a secret ; though you won't be- 
lieve it. Thirteen year of temper in a palace would try the worst of you ; but 
thirteen year of temper in a cart would try the best of you. You are kept so 
very close to it in a cart, you see. There 's thousands of couples among you 
getting on like sweet ile upon a whetstone in houses five and six pairs of stairs 
high, that would go to the Divorce Court in a cart. "Whether the jolting makes 
it worse, I don't undertake to decide ; but in a cart it does come home to you, 
and stick to you. Wiolence in a cart is so wiolent, and aggrawation in a cart is 
so aggrawating. 

We might have had such a pleasant life I A roomy cart, with the large goods 
hung outside, and the bed slung underneath it when on the road, an iron pot 
and a kettle, a fireplace for the cold weather, a chimney for the smoke, a hang- 
ing-shelf and a cupboard, a dog, and a horse : what more do you want ? You 
draw off upon a bit of turf in a green lane or by the roadside ; you hobble your 
old horse, and turn him grazing; you light your fire upon the ashes of the last 
visitors ; you cook your stew ; and you would n't call the emperor of France 
your father. But have a temper in the cart, flinging language and the hardest 
goods in stock at you ; and where are you then ? Put a name to your feelings. 

My dog knew as well when she was on the turn as I did. Before she broke 
out, he would give a howl, and bolt. How he knew it was a mystery to me : 
but the sure and certain knowledge of it would wake him up out of his soundest 
sleep ; and he would give a howl, and bolt. At such times I wished I was him. 

At such times, she does not spare her little daughter, but treats 
her with great cruelty. When, however, the child dies, she takes 
to brooding, and tries to drown remorse in liquor ; but one day, see- 
ing a woman beating a child unmercifully, she stops her ears, runs 
away like a wild thing ; and the next day she is found in the river. 

Marigold, Little Sophy. Their daughter ; a sweet child, 
shamefully abused by her mother, but dearly loved by her father, 
to whom she is quite devoted. She takes a bad low fever, and dies 
in his arms, while he is convulsing a rustic audience with his jokes 
and witty speeches. 

Marigold, "Willura. Doctor Marigold's father ; a " lovely one, in 
his time," at the " Cheap Jack " work. 

Mim. A showman, who is a most ferocious swearer, and who has 
a very hoarse voice. He is master to Pickleson, and step-father to 
Sophy, whom he disposes of to Doctor Marigold for half a dozen 
pairs of braces. 

Pickleson, called Rinaldo di Velasco. An amiable though 

42 



494 ^J)^ WU'ktnB Hictfonars. 

timid giant, let out to Mim for exhibition by his mother, who spends 
the wages he rijceives. 

He was a languid young man, which I attribute to the distance betwixt hi» 
extremities. He had a little head, and less in it; he had weak eyes and weak 
knees ; and altogether you could n't look at him without feeling that there wa» 
greatly too much of him both for his joints and his mind. 

Bophy. A deaf-and-dumb girl adopted by Doctor Marigold aftei 
the death of his own daughter Sophy. She becomes greatlj 
attached to her new father, who loves her fervently in return, and 
is very kind and patient with her, trying at first to teach hei 
himself to read, and then sending her to an institution for deaf 
mutes, to be educated. She subsequently marries a man afflicted 
like herself; goes abroad with him ; and, after an absence of over 
five years, returns home with a little daughter. Doctor Marigold 
thus describes their meeting : — 

I had started at a real sound; and the sound was on the steps of the cart. 
It was the light, hurried tread of a child coming clambering up. That tread of 
a child had once been so familiar to me, that, for half a moment, I believed I 
was a-going to see a little ghost. 

But the touch of a real child was laid upon the outer handle of the door, and 
the handle turned, and the door opened a little way, and a real child peeped in, 
— a bright little comely girl with large dark eyes. 

Looking full at me, the tiny creature took off her mite of a straw hat, and a 
quantity of dark curls fell all about her face. Then she opened her lips, and 
said in a pretty voice, — 

"Grandfather!" 

" Ah, my God 1 " I cries out. " She can speak I " 

" Yes, dear grandfather. And I am to ask you whether there was ever any 
one that I remind you of? " 

In a moment, Sophy was round my neck, as well as the child; and her hus- 
band was a-wringing my hand with his face hid ; and we all had to shake our- 
selves together before we could get over it. And when we did begin to get 
over it, and I saw the pretty child a-talking, pleased and quick, and eager and 
busy, to her mouther, in the signs that I had first taught her mother, the happy 
and yet pitying tears fell rolling down my face. 



Barboje J8rotl)cr0, 

BARBOX BROTHERS AND CO. 



THIS story-for "Barbox Brothers and Co." is merely a pendant or seque\ 
to "Barbox Brothers "-is one of a number of tales included in " Mugby Junc- 
tion," the extra Christmas number of " All the Year Round " for 1866. The hero 
of the story, who is also the narrator of it, is at first a clerk in the firm of Barbox 
Brothers, then a partner, and finally the firm itself. From being a moody, self- 
contained, and unhappy person, made so by the lumbering cares and the accumu- 
lated disappointments of long monotonous years, he is changed, under circum- 
stances that awaken and develop his better nature, into a thoroughly cheerful 
man, with eyes and thoughts for others, anda hand ever ready to help those who 
need and deserve help; and thus, taking, as it were, thousands of partners xnto 
the solitary firm, he becomes " Barbox Brothers and Co." 



GHABAGTEBS INTBODUGED. 

Barbox Brothers, ^fee Jackson, Mr. 

Beatrice A careworn woman, with her hair turned gray, whom 
" Barbox Brothers " had once loved and lost. She is the wife ot 
Tresham. See Jackson (Mr.) ; Tresham. 

Jackson Mr. A former clerk in the public notary and biU-brok- 
ino- firm' of Barbox Brothers, who, after imperceptibly becommg 
the sole representative of the house, at length retires, and obhter- 
ates it from the face of the earth, leaving nothing of it but its name 
on two portmanteaus, which he has with him one rainy night when 
he leaves a train at Mugby Junction. 

A man within five years of fifty, either way, who had turned ^ay too ^oon, 
like a neglected fire; a man of pondering habit, brooding carnage of the head, 



i96 SrN Bicfeens JBfctfonatj. 

and suppressed internal voice; a man with many indications on him of having 
been much alone. 

With a bitter recollection of his lonely childhood, of the en- 
forced business, at once distasteful and oppressive, in which the best 
years of his life have been spent, of the double faithlessness of the 
only woman he ever loved and the only friend he ever trusted, his 
birthday, as it annually recurs, serves but to intensify his ever- 
present sense of desolation ; and he resolves to abandon all thought 
of a fixed home, and to pass the rest of his days in travelling, 
hoping to find relief in a constant change of scene. It is after 
three o'clock of a tempestuous morning, when, acting on a sudden 
impulse, he leaves the train at Mugby Junction. At that black hour, 
he cannot obtain any conveyance to the inn, and willingly accepts 
the invitation of " Lamps," an employe of the railway company, to 
try the warmth of his little room for a while. He afterwards 
makes the acquaintance of " Lamps's " daughter Phoebe, a poor bed- 
ridden girl ; and their happy disposition, strong mutual afiection, 
peaceful lives, modest self-respect, and unafiected interest in those 
around them, teach him a lesson of cheerfulness, contentment, and 
moral responsibility, which the experience of years had failed to 
impart. 

On a visit, one day, to a distant town, he is suddenly accosted by 
a very little girl, who tells him she is lost. He takes her to his 
hotel, and failing to discover who she is, or where she lives, he 
makes an'angements for her staying over night, and amuses him- 
self with her childish prattle, and her enjoyment of her novel situa- 
tion. The little one's mother at last appears, and proves to be the 
woman he had loved, and who had so heartlessly eloped with his 
most trusted friend years before. She tells him that she has had 
five other children, who are all in their graves ; that her husband is 
very ill of a lingering disorder, and that he believes the curse of 
his old friend rests on the whole household. Will Mr. Jackson 
forgive them ? The injured man — now so changed from what he 
once was — responds by taking the child to her father, placing her 
in his arms, and invoking a blessing on her innocent head. " Live 
and thrive, my pretty baby I " he says, — " live and prosper, and 
become, in time, the mother of other little children, like the angels 
who behold the Father's face." 

Lamps." A railway servant employed at Mugby Junction 
father of Phoebe. He is a very hard-working man, being on dut) 



aSarfioj: 38roti)ers. 497 

fourteen, fifteen, or eighteen hours a day, and sometimes even 
twenty-four hours at a time. But he is always on the bright side 
and the good side. He has a daughter who is bed-ridden, and to 
whom he is entirely devoted. Besides supplying her with books and 
newspapers, he takes to composing comic songs for her amusement, 
and — what is still harder, and at first goes much against his grain 
— to singing them also. 

Phoebe. His daughter ; crippled and helpless in consequence of a 
fall in infancy. She supports herself by making lace, and by teach- 
ing a few little children. Notwithstanding her great misfortune, 
she is always contented, always lively, always interested in others, 
of all sorts. She makes the acquaintance of Mr. Jackson (" Bar- 
box Brothers ") ; and her pure and gentle life becomes the guiding 
star of his. 

Polly. Daughter of Beatrice and Tresham ; a little child found by 
" Barbox Brothers " in the streets of a large town. See Jackson, 
Mr. 

Tresham. A former fi-iend of " Barbox Brothers," who advances 
him in business, and takes him into his private confidence. In return, 
Tresham comes between him and Beatrice (whom " Barbox Broth- 
ers " loves), and takes her from him. This treachery after a time re- 
ceives its fitting punishment in poverty, and loss of health and chil- 
dren; but "Barbox Brothers," whose awakened wrath had long 
seemed inappeasable, is made better at last by the discipline and 
experience of life, and generously forgives those who had forced 
him to undergo so sharp a trial. 



®l)e Bog at illugbg* 



This tale, as originally published, formed the third portion of <' Mugby Junc- 
tion," the extra Christmas number of " All the Year Round " for 1866. It is a 
satirical description, by a young waiter, of the ordinary English railway refresh, 
ment-room, with its sawdust sandwiches, its stale cake and pastry, its wretched 
tea and coflfee, and its abominable butter-scotch, as compared with the excellent 
provision made in France for the entertainment and comfort of travellers. The 
proprietress of the Refreshment-Room at Mugby Junction crosses the Channel for 
the express purpose of looking into the French method of conducting such estab- 
lishments. 

" Putting every thing together," said oar missis, " French refreshmenting comes to this ; 
and, oh, it comes to a nice total! First, eatable things to eat, and drinkable things to 
drink." 

A groan from the young ladies, kep' up by me. 

" Second, convenience, and even elegance." 

Another groan from the young ladies, kep' up by me. 

"Third, moderate charges." 

Thia time a groan from me, kep' up by the young ladles. 

" Fourth, — and here," says our missis, " I claim your angriest sympathy, — attention, 
common civility, nay, even politeness 1 " 

Me and the young ladies regularly raging mad all together. 

" And I cannot, in conclusion," says our missis, with her spitefUlest sneer, " give you 
a completer pictur of that despicable nation (after what I have related), than assuring 
you that they wDUld n't bear our constitutional ways and noble independence at Mugby 
Junction for a single month ; and that they would turn us to the right-about, and put 
another system in our places as soon as look at us, — perhaps sooner, for I do not rielieve 
they have the good taste to care to look at us twice." 



CEABACTEB8 INTBODUOED. 

Ezekiel. " The boy at Mugby ; " an attendant in the Refresliment- 
Room at Mugby Junction, whose proudest boast is, that " it never 
yet refreshed a mortal being." 
498 




THE BOY AT MUGBY. 



C:j)e aSos at il^usbg. 499 

Up in a corner of the Down Refreshment-Koom at Mugby Junction, in the 
height of twenty-seven cross draughts (I 've often counted 'em while they brush 
the first-class hair twenty-seven ways), behind the bottles, among the glasses, 
bounded on the nor'west by the beer, stood pretty far to the right of a metallic 
object that 's at times the tea-urn, and at times the soup-tureen, according to the 
nature of the last twang imparted to its contents, which are the same ground- 
work, fended off from the traveller by a barrier of stale sponge-cakes erected 
atop of the counter, and lastly exposed sideways to the glare of our missis's 
eye, — you ask a boy so sitiwated, next time you stop in a hurry at Mugby, 
for any thing to drink; you take particular notice that he '11 try to seem not to 
hear you ; that he '11 appear in a absent manner to survey the line through a 
transparent medium composed of your head and body; and that he won't serve 
you as long as you can possibly bear it. That 's me. 

Pifif, Miss. One of the " young ladies " in the same Refreshment- 
Room. 

Sniff, Mr. " A regular insignificant cove " employed by the mis- 
tress of the Refreshment-Room. 

He looks arter the sawdust department in a back-room, and is sometimes, 
when we are very hard put to it, let behind the counter with a corkscrew, but 
never when it can be helped ; his demeanor towards the public being disgusting 
servile. How Mrs. Sniff ever come so far to lower herself as to marry him, I 
don't know; but I suppose he does; and I should think he wished he did n't, for 
he leads a awful life. Mrs. Sniff could n't be much harder with him if he was 
public. 

Sniff, Mrs. His wife ; chief assistant of the mistress of the Re- 
freshment-Room. 

She 's the one I She 's the one as you '11 notice to be always looking another 
way from you, when you look at her. She 's the one with the small waist 
buckled in tight in front, and with the lace cuffs at her wrists, which she 
puts on the edge of the counter before her, and stands a-smoothing while the 
public foams. This smoothing the cuffs, and looking another way while the 
public foams, is the last accomplishment taught to the young ladies as come to 
Mugby to be finished by our missis ; and it 's always taught by Mrs. Sniff. 

When our missis went away upon her journey, Mrs. Sniff was left in charge. 
She did hold the public in check most beautiful. In all my time, I never see 
half so many cups of tea given without milk to people as wanted it with, nor 
half so many cups of tea with milk given to people as wanted it without. When 
foaming ensued, Mrs. Sniff would say, " Then you 'd better settle it among 
yourselves, and change with one another." It was a most highly delicious lark. 

Whiff, Miss, An attendant in the Refreshment-Room. 



®tx)0 ®l)0Bt 0tDne0. 



-♦• 



I. THE TRIAL FOR MURDER. 

The first of the two stories reprinted under the above title was originally pub- 
lished as a portion of "Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions," the extra Christmas 
number of "All the Year Round "for 1865. It was the sixth of the " Prescrip- 
tions," and was labelled '' To be taken with a grain of salt." It is feigned to have 
been written by "a literary character " whom the doctor discovers in travelling 
about the country, and to have been intended (as well as the tales accompanying 
it) for the amusement of his adopted deaf-and-dumb daughter Sophy. It purports 
to be an account of circumstances preceding and attending a certain noted trial for 
murder. The narrator, who is summoned to serve on the jury, is haunted, from 
the time he first hears of the deed until the close of the trial, by the apparition 
of the murdered man. Though seen by no one else, it mingles with the jury and 
the oflScers of the court, looks at the judge's notes over his shoulder, confronts the 
defendant's witnesses, and stands at the elbow of the counsel, invariably causing 
some trepidation or disturbance on the part of each, and, as it were, dumbly and 
darkly overshadowing their minds. 

Finally the jury returned into court at ten minutes past twelve. The murdered man 
at that time stood directly opposite the jury-box, on the other side of the court. As I took 
my place, his eyes rested on me with great attention : he seemed satisfied, and slowly 
shook a great gray veil, which he carried on his arm for the first time, over his head and 
whole form. As I gave in our verdict, " Guilty," the veil collapsed, all was gone, and his 
place was empty. 

Besides those above mentioned (the names of none of whom are given), the 
following are the only 



CHARAGTEBS INTRODUCED. 

Derrick, John. Valet to the haunted juryman. 
Harker, Mr. An officer in charge of the jury, and sworn to hold 
them in safe-keeping. 

500 



0tDo ®f|)o»t Stories. 501 



II. THE SIGNAL-MAN. 

Thk second Ghost Story is an account of an incident occurring on one of tho 
branch lines leading from Mugby Junction. It forms the fourth division of the 
extra Christmas number bearing that name, which was published in 1866, in con- 
nection with " All the Year Round." It is supposed to be related by " Barbox 
Brothers," who makes a careful study of the Junction and its vicinity, and communi- 
cates to his poor bedridden friend Phoebe the substance of what he sees, hears, or 
otherwise picks up on the main line and its five branches. Exploring Branch Line 
No. 1, he visits a signal-man who is stationed in a deep cutting near the entrance 
of a tunnel. He is a cool, vigilant, clear-headed, and educated man, who had 
been, when young, a student of natural history, and had attended lectures, but had 
run wild, misused his opportunities, gone down, and never risen again. Notwith- 
standing his intelligence, and his freedom from any taint of superstition, he is con- 
tinually haunted by a strange apparition, which, just before any fatal accident, stands 
by the red light at the mouth of the tunnel, and with one hand over its eyes, as 
if to shut out the frightful scene about to take place, cries " HoUoa I Below there I 
Look out I For God's sake, clear the way I " Twice has this occurred, and been 
followed by accident and death ; and now the figure has been seen and heard 
again. The visitor goes away, hardly knowing how he ought to act in view of his 
knowledge of the man's state of mind; but he finally resolves to offer to accom- 
pany him to a wise medical practitioner, and to take his opinion. 

Next evening was a lovely evening, and I walked out early to enjoy it. The sun was 
not yet quite down when I traversed ttie fleld-path near tlie top of the deep cutting. I 
would extend my walk for an hour, I said to myself, — half an hour on, and half an hour 
back, — and it would then be time to go to my signal-man's box. 

Before pursuing my stroll, I stepped to the brink, and mechanically looked down from 
the point from which I had first seen him. I cannot describe the thrill that seized upon 
me, when, close at the mouth of the tunnel, I saw the appearance of a man, with his left 
sleeve across his eyes, passionately waving his right arm. 

The nameless horror that oppressed me passed in a moment ; for in a moment I saw 
that this appearance of a man was a man indeed, and that there was a little group of 
other men, standing at a short distance, to whom he seemed to be rehearsing the gesture 
he made. The danger-light was not yet lighted. Against its shaft, a little low hut, en- 
tirely new to me, had been made of some wooden supports and tarpaulin. It looked no 
bigger than a bed. 

With an irresistible sense that something was wrong, —with a flashing, self-reproach- 
ftil fear that fatal mischief had come of my leaving the man there and causing no one to 
be sent to overlook or correct what he did, — I descended the notched path with all tho 
speed I could make. 

*' What is the matter ? " I asked the men. 

- Signal-man killed this morning, sir.** 



502 2C|)e ©fcftens Bfctfonarj. 

" Not the man belonging to that box f '* 

" Yes, sir." 

•* Not the man I know ? " 

" You will recognize him, sir, If you knew him," said the man who spoke for the 
others, solemnly uncovering his own head, and raising an end of the tarpaulin; "for his 
"ace is quite composed." 

"Ohl how did this happen? how did this happen?" I asked, turning ftom one to 
another, as the hut closed in again. 

"He was cut down by an engine, sir. No man In England knew his work better; 
but, somehow, he was not clear of the outer rail. It was just at broad day. He had 
struck the light, and had the lamp in his hand. As the engine came out of the tunnel, 
his back was towards her, and she cut him down. That man drove her, and was showing 
how it happened. Show the gentleman, Tom." . . . 

" Coming round the curve in the tunnel, sir," he said, " I saw him at the end, like 
aa if I saw him down a perspective-glass. There was no time to check speed ; and I 
knew him to be very careful. As he did n't seem to take heed of the whistle, I shut it 
oflf when we were running down upon him, and called to him as loud as I could caU." 

" What did you say ? " 

" I said, ' Below there I Look out I Look out ! For God's sake, clear the way I • " 

I started. 

" Ah I it was a dreadful time, sir. I never left off calling to him. I put this arm 
before my eyes not to see ; and I waved this arm to the last : but It was no use." 



^oUbaj! Eotnance. 



This exquisitely humorous story was written expressly for "Our Young 
Folks " (a juvenile magazine issued by the publishers of this volume), in which 
it appeared during the months of January, March, April, and May, 1868, illustrated 
with four full-page woodcuts from designs by John Gilbert. It was also brought 
out in England, in Mr. Dickens's own periodical, "All the Year Round," in Jan- 
uary, February, and March of the same year. The story is in four parts, of which 
the first, supposed to be written by a young gentleman of eight years of age, ex- 
plains " how what comes after came to be written." It contains an account of two 
small boys, who " make believe " that they are married to two little girls, and that 
they are all high and mighty personages, with relatives and friends of the same 
stamp. Finding, however, that the " grown-up people won't do what they ought 
to do," and refuse to allow their claims, they agree, that, during the approaching 
holidays, they will " educate the grown-up people " by hinting to them how things 
ought to be, veiling their meaning under a mask of romance. They accordingly 
write three amusingly absurd stories, in which the children act the part of men 
and women, while the men and women are treated as if they were children. In 
relation to this charming piece of nonsense, Mr. Dickens thus wrote to his friend 
and publisher, Mr. James T. Fields : — 

" I hope the Americans will see the joke of ' Holiday Romance.' The writing seems to 
me so like children's, that dull folks (on any side of any water) might, perhaps, rate it ac- 
cordingly. I should like to be beside you when you read it, and particularly ' The Pirate's 
Story.' It made me laugh to that extent, that my people here thought I was out of my 
wits, until I gave it to them to read, when they did likewise." 



CHABAGTEB8 INTRODUCED, 

Alicia, Princess. The heroine of Miss Alice Rainbird's romance ; 
eldest child of King Watkins the First, and god-daughter of the 
good fairy Grandmarina, who gives her a magic fish-bone, which 

503 



604 5^!)5 ©fcfeens Bfctfonats. 

can only oe used once, but which is warranted to bring her, that 
once, whatever she wishes for, provided she wishes for it at the 
right time. The princess is a notable housewife, and is also a very 
motherly girl, taking sole charge of her eighteen brothers and sis- 
ters. She has great good sense, and refrains from using her magic 
present until some great exigency shall arise. But when, at last, 
her father informs her that his money is all gone, and that he has 
no means of getting any more, though he has tried very hard, and 
has tried all ways, she thinks the right time must have come for 
testing the virtue of her god-mother's gift, and she therefore wishes 
it were quarter-day ; and immediately it is quarter-day, and the 
king's quarter's salary comes rattling down the chimney. More- 
over, her god-mother appears, changes the coarse attire of the 
princess into the splendid raiment of a bride, and whisks her off to 
church, where she is married to Prince Certainpersonio, after which 
there is a magnificent wedding-feast. 

When Grandmarina had drunk her love to the young couple, and Prince 
Certainpersonio had made a speech, and everybody had cried, " Hip, hip, hip, 
hurrah ! " Grandmarina announced to the king and queen, that, in future, there 
would be eight quarter-days in every year, except in leap-year, when there would 
be ten. She then turned to Certainpersonio and Alicia, and said, *' My dears, 
you will have thirty-five children, and they will all be good and beautiful. 
Seventeen of your children will be boys, and eighteen vrill be girls. The 
hair of the whole of your children will curl naturally. They will never have the 
measles, and will have recovered from the whooping-cough before being born." 

Alicumpaine, Mrs. One of the characters in Miss Nettie Ash- 
ford's romance ; a little friend of Mr. and Mrs. Orange, whom she 
invites to " a small juvenile party " of grown-up people. See Ash- 
ford, Miss Nettie. 

Ashford, Miss Nettie. A child of seven ; pretended bride of 
William Tinkling, Esquire (aged eight), and author of a romance, 
the scene of which is laid in " a most delightful country to live in,'* 
where " the grown-up people are obliged to obey the children, and 
are never allowed to sit up to supper, except on their birthdays.'* 
See Tinkling, William, Esquire. 

Black, Mrs. One of Mrs. Lemon's pupils in Miss Nettie Ash- 
ford's romance. She is a grown-up child, who is always at play, 
or gadding about and spoiling her clothes, besides being " as pert 
and as flouncing a minx as ever you met with in all your days." 

Boldheart, Captain. Hero of Master Robin Redforth's romance. 
He is master of the schooner " Beauty,'* and greatly distinguishes 
himself by various valiant exploits, notably his capture of " The 



j^olitiag a^omance. 505 

Scorpion," commanded by an old enemy, the Latin-grammar Mas- 
ter, whom he turns adrift in an open boat, with two oars, a compass, 
a bottle of rum, a small cask of water, a piece of pork, a bag of 
biscuit, and a Latin grammar. He afterwards finds him on a 
lonely island, and rescues him from the hands of the natives, who 
are cannibals; but, when he subsequently discovers him plotting to 
give him up to the master of another vessel (" The Family"), he 
incontinently hangs the traitor at the yard-arm. 

Boozey, WiUiam. One of the crew of " The Beauty," rescued 
from drowning by Captain Boldheart, and ever afterwards his de- 
voted friend. 

Brown. A vicious (grown-up) boy, greedy, and troubled with the 
gout, in Miss Nettie Ashford's romance. See Ashford, Miss 

Nettie. 
Certainpersonio, Prinoe. A young gentleman who becomes the 

husband of the Princess Alicia. See Alicia, Princess. 
Drowvey, Miss. A schoolmistress in partnership with Miss 
Grimmer. The opinion of their pupils is divided as to " which 
is the greatest beast." 
Grandmarina, Fairy. God-mother of the Princess Alicia. See 

Alicia, Princess. 
Grimmer, Miss. A schoolmistress. See Drowvey, Miss. 
Latin-Grammar Master, The. An old teacher and enemy of 

Captain Boldheart. See Boldheart. 
Lemon, Mrs. The proprietress of a Preparatory School for grown- 
up pupils, who figures in Miss Nettie Ashford's romance. See Ash- 
ford, Miss Nettie. 
Orange, Mr. James. The '* husband " of Mrs. Orange. 
Orange, Mrs. A character in Miss Nettie Ashford's romance ; 
" a truly sweet young creature," who has the misfortune to be 
sadly plagued by a numerous family of grown-up " children," includ- 
ing two parents, two intimate friends of theirs, one god-father, two 
god-mothers, and an aunt. See Ashford, Miss Nettie. 
Peggy. Lord-chamberlain at the court of King Watkins the First, 

in Miss Alice Rainbird's romance. 
Pickles. A fishmonger in the same story. 

Rainbird, Alice. The "bride" of Robin Redforth, and the 
author of the romance of which the Princess Alicia is the heroine. 
See Alicia (Princess), and Redforth (Lieutenant-Colo- 
nel Robin). 

13 



506 2r|)e ©fcttens ISfctfonats. 

Redforth, Lieutenant-Colonel Robin. Cousin to William 
Tinkling, Esquire. He is a young gentleman aged nine, who 
assumes the part of a pirate, and aflfects to be peculiarly lawless 
and blood-thirsty. The romance which contains the story of Cap- 
tain Boldheart is from his pen. See Boldheart, Captain. 

Tinkling, William, Esquire. Author of the introductory por- 
tion of the romance, and editor of the other portions. He is eight 
years old ; and to him Miss Nettie Ashford is " married " in the right- 
hand closet in the corner of the dancing-school where they first 
met, with a ring (a green one) from Wilkingwater's toy-shop. His 
bride, and the bride of his friend, Lieutenant-Colonel Robin Red- 
forth, being in captivity at the school of Drowvey and Grimmer, 
the two young gentlemen resolve to cut them out on a Wednesday 
when walking two and two. The plan fails, however ; and Tink- 
hng's bride brands him as a coward. He demands a court-martial, 
which is granted and assembles ; the Emperor of France, the Presi- 
dent of the United States, and a certain admiral, being among the 
members of it. The verdict of " not guilty " is on the point of being 
rendered, when an imlooked-for event disturbs the general re- 
joicing. This is no other than the Emperor of France's aunt catch- 
ing hold of his hair. The proceedings abruptly terminate, and the 
court tumultuously dissolves. 

Tom. Cousin to Captain Boldheart; a boy remarkable for his 
cheekiness and unmannerliness. 

Watkins the First, King. A character in Miss Alice Rain- 
bird's romance ; the manliest of his sex, and husband of a queen 
who is the loveliest of hers. 

They had nineteen children, and were always having more. Seventeen of 
these children took care of the baby; and Alicia, the eldest, took care of them 
all. Their ages varied from seven years to seven months. 

See Alicia, Princess. 
White. A pale bald child (a grown-up one) with red whiskers, 
who is a pupil in Mrs. Lemon's Preparatory SchooL 



(S^toxQt &xivtxmaxC0 €jcplanation. 



This tale was written expressly for "The Atlantic Monthly," and was published 
in that magazine in the months of January, February, and March, 1868. It was 
republished, the same year, in "All the Year Round." 



CHABAGTERS INTRODUCED. 

Fareway, Adelina. Pupil of George Silverman, who falls in 
love with her, and finds his love reciprocated, but resigns her to 
another out of pure self-depreciation and unworldliness. 

Fareway, Lady. Her mother; widow of the late Sir Gaston 
Fareway, baronet ; a penurious and managing woman, handsome, 
well-preserved, of somewhat large stature, with a steady glare in 
her great round eyes. She presents Mr. George Silverman to a 
living of two hundred a year, in North Devonshire, but imposes the 
condition that he shall help her with her correspondence, accounts, 
and various little things of that kind, and that he shall gratuitously 
direct her daughter's studies. 

Fareway, Mr. Her second son ; a young gentleman of abilities 
much above the average, but idle and luxurious, who for a time 
reads with Mr. Silverman. 

Gimblet, Brother. An elderly drysalter ; a man with a crabbed 
face, a large dog's-eared sbirt-collar, and a spotted blue neckerchief, 
reaching up behind to the crown of his head. He is an expounder 
in Brother Hawkyard's congregation. 

Hawkyard, Mr. Verity, of West Bromwich. George Silvei 
man's guardian or patron ; a yellow-faced, peak-nosed man, who 
is an exhorter in a congregation of an obscure denomination, among 

607 



508 8^?)^ ISfckens JBictionars. 

wliom he is called Brother Hawkyard. He is given to boasting, 
and has a habit of confirming himself in a parenthesis, as if, know- 
ing himself, he doubted his own word. Thus he tells his ward, — 

*' I am a servant of the Lord, George, and I have been a good servant to him 
(I have) these five and thirty years : the Lord has had a good servant in me, 
and he knows it." 

From the first [says George Silverman], I could not like this familiar 
knowledge of the ways of the sublime, inscrutable Almighty, on Brother 
Hawkyard's part. As I grew a little wiser, and still a little wiser, I liked 
it less and less. . . . Before the knowledge became forced upon me, that, 
outside their place of meeting, these brothers and sisters were no better 
than the rest of the human family, but on the whole were, to put the case mildly, 
as bad as most, in respect of giving short weight in their shops, and not speak- 
ing the truth, — I say, before this knowledge became forced upon me, their pro- 
lix addresses, their inordinate conceit, their daring ignorance, their investment 
of the Supreme Ruler of heaven and earth with their own miserable mean- 
nesses and littlenesses, greatly shocked me. 

Silverman, George. The narrator of the story ; bom in a cellar 
in Preston. He thus describes his parents : — 

Mother had the gripe and clutch of poverty upon her face, upon her figure, 
and, not least of all, upon her voice. Her sharp and high-pitched words were 
squeezed out of her, as by the compression of bony fingers on a leathern bag; 
and she had a way of rolling her eyes about and about the cellar, as she scolded, 
that was gaunt and hungry. Father, with his shoulders rounded, would sit 
quiet on a three-legged stool, looking at the empty grate, until she would pluck 
the stool from under him, and bid him go bring some money home. Then he 
would dismally ascend the steps ; and I, holding my ragged shirt and trousers 
together with a hand (my only braces), would feint and dodge from mother's 
pursuing grasp at my hair. 

"A worldly little devil " was mother's usual name for me. Whether I cried 
for that I was in the dark, or for that it was cold, or for that I was hungry; or 
whether I squeezed myself into a warm corner when there was a fire, or ate 
voraciously when there was food, — she would still say, "O you worldly little 
devil ! " And the sting of it was, that I quite well knew myself to be a worldly 
r little devU ; worldly as to wanting to be housed and warmed ; worldly as to 
wanting to be fed ; worldly as to the greed with which I inwardly compared how 
much I got of those good things with how much father and mother got, when, 
rarely, those good things were going. 

While still a small child, George loses his father and mother, who 
die miserably of a fever ; is taken from the cellar in a half-starved, 
state ; and is handed over by the authorities to Brother Hawkyard, 
who, as it seems, has accepted a trust in behalf of the boy from a 
rich grandfather who has just died at Birmingham. After being 
disinfected, comfortably fed, and furnished with new clothes, he is 
sent to an old farm-house at Hoshton Towers, where he remains for 
a considerable time, and where he begins to form a shy disposition 



®eorge Sflbcrman»s JSpplanation. 50& 

to be of a timidly silent character under misconstruction, to have 
an inexpressible and even a morbid dread of becoming sordid or 
worldly. He is afterwards put to school, told to work his way, and, 
as time goes on, becomes a Foundation Boy on a good foundation, 
and is preached at on Sundays by Brother Hawkyard and other ex- 
pounders of the same kidney. Working still harder, he at last obtains 
a scholarship at Cambridge, where he lives a secluded life, and studies 
diligently. Knowing himself to be " unfit for the noisier stir of 
social existence," he applies his mind to the clerical profession, and 
at last is presented by Lady Fareway to a living worth two hun- 
« dred a year. Adelina, the only daughter of Lady Fareway, pur- 
sues her studies under his direction ; and a strong but undeclared 
affection springs up between them. But the young clergyman, 
conscious that her family and fortune place him far beneath her, 
and feeling that her merits are far greater than his, resolves upon 
self-sacrifice, and quietly sets to work to turn the current of her 
love into another channel. For this purpose, he introduces to her 
Mr. Granville Wharton, another pupil of his, and contrives, in 
various ways, to interest them in each other. The object is accom- 
plished, and, in little more than a year, they come before him, hand 
in hand, and ask to be united in marriage. As they are both of 
age, and as the young lady has come into possession of a fortune in 
her own right, he does not hesitate to do so; but the conse- 
quences to himself are disastrous. Lady Fareway has had am- 
bitious projects for her daughter, and indignantly charges George 
Silverman with taking a percentage upon Adelina's fortune as 
a bribe for putting Mr. Wharton in possession of it. With the 
old cry of, " You worldly wretch 1 " she demands that he should 
resign his living, contumeliously dismisses him from her presence, 
and pursues him for many years with bitter animosity. But Ade- 
lina and her husband stand by him, and at length he obtains a 
college-living in a sequestered place, lives down the suspicions 
and calumnies that have dogged his steps, and pens his " Expla- 
nation." 

Sylvia. A girl at the farm-house of Hoghton Towers, where 
George Silverman is placed by Mr. Hawkyard, after the death of 
his father and mother. 

Wharton, Mr. Granville. Pupil of George Silverman, and 
married by him to Adelina Fareway. 
43* 



NiCto noncommercial 0ampk0. 

[Published in All the Teak Bound, in 1869.] 



A SMALL STAR IN THE EAST. 

John. A boiler-maker, living in the neighborhood of Katcliffe and 
Stepney, who obtains employment but fitfully and rarely, and is 
forced to live on the work of his wife. 

Poodles. A comical mongrel dog, found starving at the door of 
the " East London Children's Hospital," and taken in and fed, 
since which he has made it his home. On his neck he wears a 
collar presented him by an admirer of his mental endowments, and 
bearing the legend, " Judge not Poodles by external appearances.'* 

A LITTLE DINNER IN AN HOUR. 

Bullfinch. A gentleman, who, having occasion to go to the seaside 
resort of Namelesston with a friend for the transaction of some 
business, proposes that they should dine at the Temeraire. They 
accordingly drive to that house, and order a little dinner, which is 
to be ready punctually in one hour. They return promptly, but 
try in vain to eat and drink what is set before them, and come to 
the conclusion that no such ill-served, ill-appointed, ill-cooked, 
nasty little dinner could be got for the money anywhere else under 
the sun. 

Cocker, Mr. Indignation. A dissatisfied diner at the same 
house, who disputes the charges in his bill. 

MR. BARLOW. 

Barlow, Mr. An irrepressible instructive monomaniac, who knows 
every thing, didactically improves all sorts of occasions, and presents 

510 



Neto sancommercfal Samples. 511 

himself in all sorts of aspects and under all kinds of disguises ; so 
named from an all-knowing tutor in Thomas Day's j avenile story 
of " Sandford and Merton." 

ON AN AMATEUR BEAT. 

Poodles. A mongrel dog attached to the " East London Children's 
Hospital." See " A Small Star in the East." 

I find him making the round of the beds, like a house-surgeon, attended by 
another dog, — a friend, — who appears to trot about with him in tlie character 
of his pupil-dresser. Poodles is anxious to make me known to a pretty little 
girl, looking wonderfully healthy, who has had a leg taken off for cancer of the 
knee. " A difficult operation," Poodles intimates, wagging his tail on the coun- 
terpane, ** but perfectly successful, as you see, dear sir.'' The patient, patting 
Poodles, adds, with a smile, " The leg was so much trouble to me, that I am glad 
it 's gone." I never saw any thing in doggery finer than the deportment of 
Poodles when another little girl opens her mouth to show a peculiar enlarge- 
ment of the tongue. Poodles (at that time on a table, to be on a level with the 
occasion) looks at the tongue (with his own sympathetically out) so very 
gravely and knowingly, that I feel inclined to put my hand on my waistcoat* 
pocket, and give him a guinea, wrapped in paper. 



^\)t iltB0tera of (0&tDin JDroob. 



Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic power. 

And the lost clew regain ? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower 

Unfinished must remain. Longfkllo'W. 

The first number of this work, which closes the series of Dickens's novels, was 
issued by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, on the 1st of April, 1870, with two illus- 
trations on wood from drawings by S. L. Fildes. The story was to be completed 
in twelve monthly parts ; but the third part had been published only a few days 
when death stopped the writer's hand for ever. Three additional numbers, how- 
ever, were left in manuscript, making just one-half of the entire story. 

What Dickens wrote of Thackeray's unfinished novel (" Denis Duval ") is true, 
also, of his own, — that it is "very sad ... in its evidences of matured designs 
never to be accomplished ; of intentions begun to be executed, and destined never 
to be completed ; of careful preparation for long roads of thought that he was 
never to traverse, and for shining goals that he was never to reach." " In respect 
of earnest feeling," he added, " far-seeing purpose, character, incident, and a cer- 
tain loving picturesqueness blending the whole, I believe it to be much the best 
of all his works." If this high praise cannot be awarded to " Edwin Drood," a 
place among the best of his works may at least be assigned to it. Yet it cannot 
be said of Dickens, as he said of Thackeray, "that he was in the healthiest vigor 
of his powers when he wrought on this last labor : " on the contrary, he com- 
plained that his thoughts did not flow so freely as formerly, and that composition 
was a task which tired and worried him. Besides this, he was troubled by a fear, 
that, in the early numbers, he had too plainly foreshadowed the conclusion of the 
Btory. There was, however, no approach to completeness in the fragment as he 
left it ; and it was rumored that the tale would be finished by Mr. Wilkie Collins, 
until Messrs. Chapman and Hall announced, in a letter to " The Times," that no 
other writer could be permitted by them to complete it. Still a sequel has been 
published in the United States, without their authorization, or that of Mr. Dick- 
en<j'8 family, entitled " John Jasper's Secret." The writers (Mr. Henry Morford 
512 



Srije IH^sters of Htrtofn BrooH. 613 

and others) assert, that hints had been unwittingly supplied by Mr. Dickens " foi 
a much closer estimate of the bearings of those portions remaining unwritten 
than he could probably have believed while in life; " and they claim to have car- 
ried out, however feebly, what they have fully traced and identified as the inten- 
tion of the writer, every intrinsic and extrinsic fact and hint being carefully con- 
sidered." 



CHABAGTEBS INTBODUQED. 

Bazzard, Mr. Clerk to Mr. Grewgious, over whom he possesses a 
strange power. He is a pale, pufiy-faeed, dark-haired person of 
thirty, with big, dark eyes wholly wanting in lustre, and with a dis- 
satisfied, doughy complexion, that seems to ask to be sent to the 
baker's. The secret of his influence over Mr. Grewgious is 
thus explained by that gentleman in a conversation he has with 
Miss Rosa Bud : — 

" We were speaking of Mr. Bazzard. . . . What do you think Mr. Bazzard has 

done?" ^ . . , 

" Oh, dear I » cried Rosa, drawing her chair a little nearer, and her mmd 

reverting to Jasper, — '' nothing dreadful, I hope ? » 

"He has written a play," said Mr. Grewgious in a solemn whisper, — "a 

tragedy." 

Rosa seemed much relieved. 

*' And nobody," pursued Mr. Grewgious in the same tone, " will hear, on any 
account whatever, of bringing it out." 

Rosa looked reflective, and nodded her head slowly, as who should say, " Such 
things are, and why are they 1 " 

<' Now, you know," said Mr. Grewgious, '' I could n't write a play." 

« Not a bad one, sir ? " asked Rosa innocently, with her eyebrows again in 

action. i, • * n 

" No. If I was under sentence of decapitation, and was about to be instantly 
decapitated, and an express arrived with a pardon for the condemned convict 
Grewgious, if he wrote a play, I should be under the necessity of resuming the 
block, and begging the executioner to proceed to extremities, meaning," said 
Mr. Grewgious, passing his hand under his chin, " the singular number, and 
this extremity." 

Rosa appeared to consider what she would do if the awkward supposititious 

case were hers. 

« Consequently," said Mr. Grewgious, « Mr. Bazzard would have a sense of 
my inferiority to himself under any circumstances; but when I am his master, 
you know, the case is greatly aggravated." 

Mr. Grewgious shook his head seriously, as if he felt the offence to be a httle 
too much, though of his own committing. 

" How came you to be his master, sir?" asked Rosa. 

" A question that naturally follows," said Mr. Grewgious. " Let 's talk. Mr. 
Bazzard's father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously laid about him 



514 STlJe HBfcftens ©fctfonatg. 

with a flail, a pitchfork, and every agricultural implement available for assault- 
ing purposes, on the slightest hint of his son's having written a play. So the 
son,- bringing to me the father's rent (which I receive), imparted his secret, and 
pointed out that he was determined to pursue his genius, and that it would 
put him in peril of starvation, and that he was not formed for it." 

" For pursuing his genius, sir ? " 

" No, my dear," said Mr. Grewgious, — " for starvation. It was impossible to 
deny the position that Mr. Bazzard was not formed to be starved ; and Mr. Baz- 
zard then pointed out that it was desirable that I should stand between him 
and a fate so perfectly unsuited to his formation. In that way, Mr. Bazzard 
became my clerk, and he feels it very much." 

** I am glad he is grateful," said Rosa. 

" I did n't quite mean that, my dear. I mean that he feels the degradation. 
There are some other geniuses that Mr. Bazzard has become acquainted with, 
who have also written tragedies, which, likewise, nobody will, on any account 
whatever, hear of bringing out ; and these choice spirits dedicate their plays to 
one another in a highly panegyrical manner. Mr. Bazzard has been the sub- 
ject of one of these dedications. Now, you know, 1 never had a play dedicated 
to me ! " 

Rosa looked at him as if she would have liked him to be the recipient of a 
thousand dedications. 

*' Which again, naturally, rubs against the grain of Mr. Bazzard," said Mr. 
Gr*»wgious. " He is very short with me sometimes, and then I feel that he is 
meditating, ' This blockhead is my master ! — a fellow who could n't write a 
tragedy on pain of death, and who will never have one dedicated to him with 
the most complimentary congratulations on the high position he has taken in 
the eyes of posterity.' Very trying, very trying. However, in giving him 
directions, I reflect beforehand, ' Perhaps he may not like this,' or, ' He might 
take it ill if I asked that; 'and so we get on very well, — indeed, better than 
I could have expected." 

" Is the tragedy named, sir ? " asked Rosa. 

*' Strictly between ourselves," answered Mr. Grewgious, '' it has a dreadfully 
appropriate name. It is called ' The Thorn of Anxiety.' But Mr. Bazzard 
hopes, and I hope, that it will come out at last." 

(Ch. xi, XX.) 
Billickin, Mrs. A widowed cousin of Mr. Bazzard's, who lets 
furnished lodgings in Southampton Street, Bloomsbury Square. 
Personal faintness and an overpowering personal candor are the 
distinguishing features of her organization. (Ch. xxii.) 

With this lady Mr. Grewgious obtains rooms for his ward, Miss 
Rosa Bud. Having concluded the bargain, he writes and signs a 
few lines of agreement, and requests Mrs. Billickin to put her sig- 
nature to the document also, " Christian and surname ** in full. 

" Mr. Grewgious," said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candor, "no, sir ! 
You must excuse the Christian name." 

Mr. Grewgious stared at her. 

" The door-plate is used as a protection," said Mrs. Billickin, " and acts m 
Buch ; and go from it I will not." 

Mr. Grewgious stared at Rosa. 



2Ci)e I^Cgstets of HUtofix BrooU. 616 

*' JPfo, Mr. Grewglous, you must excuse me. So long as this 'ousels known in- 
definite as Billickln's, and so long as it is a doubt with the riif-raff where Billickin 
may be hidin' near the street-door or down the airy, and what his weiglit and 
size, so long I feel safe. But commit myself to a solitary female statement — 
no, miss I Nor would you for a moment wish," said Mrs. Billickin. with a strong 
sense of injury, " to take that advantage of your sex, if you was not brought to 
it by inconsiderate example." 

llosa, reddening as if she had made some disgraceful attempt to overreach 
the good lady, besought Sir. Grewgious to rest content with any signature; 
and accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign-manual Billickin got appended 
to the document. 

Bud, Miss Rosa, called Rosebud. A wonderfully pretty, child- 
ish, and whimsical young lady, who is an orphan, and the ward of 
Mr. Grewgious. While yet a mere child, she is betrothed to Edwin 
Drood ; her father and his having been very dear and firm and fast 
friends, and desiring that their only children should be to one 
another even more than they themselves had been to one another. 
But, as E-osa and Edwin grow up, they find that they are not truly 
happy in their engagement, and that each resents being thus mar- 
ried by anticipation. They accordingly agree to break off the 
engagement, and to " change to brother and sister " thenceforth. 
Shortly after this event, Edwin Drood disappears, and is supposed 
to have been murdered. Had Mr. Dickens lived to complete the 
story, it is not unlikely that Rosa would have been married to Mr. 
Tartar. (Ch. iii, vii, ix, xiii, xix-xxii.) See Tartar, Mr. 

China Shepherdess, The. See Crisparkle, Mrs. 

Crisparkle, The Reverend Septimus. One of the minor 

canons of Cloisterham Cathedral; a model clergyman, and a true 

Christian gentleman. (Ch. ii, vi-viii, x, xii, xiv-xvii, xxi-xxiii.) 

Mr. Crisparkle, minor canon, fair and rosy, and perpetually pitching himself 
head foremost into all the deep running water in the surrounding country; Mr. 
Crisparkle, minor canon, early riser, musical, classical, cheerful, kind, good- 
natured, social, contented, and boy-like ; Mr. Crisparkle, minor canon and good 
man, lately " Coach " upon the chief Pagan high-roads, but since promoted by 
a patron (grateful for a well-taught son) to his present Christian beat. 

Crisparkle, Mrs., called The China Shepherdess. His moth- 
er ; a pretty old lady, with bright eyes, a calm and cheerful face, 
and a trim and compact figure. (Ch. vi, vii, x.) 

Datchery, Dick. A mysterious white-haired man, with black 
eyebrows, who presents himself in Cloisterham shortly after the 
death of Edwin Drood, and who takes lodging overlooking the 
rooms of Mr. Jasper. 

Being buttoned up in a tightish blue surtout, with a buff waistcoat and gray 
trousers, he had something of a military air; but he announced himself at the 



516 C:|)e IBfcfeens lifctfonats. 

Crozier (the orthodox hotel, where he put up with a poitmanteau) as an idle 
dog who lived upon his means ; and he further announced that he had a mind 
to take a lodging in the picturesque old city for a month or two, with a view of 
settling down there altogether. 

Who or what he is does not appear ; but it is plain that he takes 
up his abode in Cloisterham for the sole purpose of watching Jas- 
per. (Ch. xviii, xxiii.) 
Deputy. A hideous small boy, hired by Durdles to pelt him home, 
if he catches him out too late. He explains to Jasper that he is a 
" man-servant up at the Travellers Twopenny," a crazy wooden 
inn near the cathedral. As a caution to Durdles to stand clear if 
he can, or to betake himself home, the young imp always chants 
tha following note of preparation before beginning to fling stones : — 

" Widdy widdy wen ! 
I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — ten, 
"Widdy widdy wy I 

Then — E — don't — go — then — I — shy — 
Widdy widdy Wake-cock warning I " 

— with a comprehensive sweep on the last word. 

The relations between Durdles and Deputy are of a capricious kind; for, on 
Durdles turning himself about with the slow gravity of beery soddenness, 
Deputy makes a pretty wide circuit into the road, and stands on the defensive. 

" You never cried Widdy Warning before you begun to-night," says Durdles, 
unexpectantly reminded of or imagining an injury. 

" Yer lie 1 1 did," says Deputy, in his only form of polite contradiction. 

" Own brother, sir," observes Durdles, turning himself about again, and as 
unexpectedly forgetting his offence as he had recalled or conceived it, — " own 
brother to Peter the Wild Boy. But I gave him an object in life." 

*' At which he takes aim ? " Mr. Jasper suggests. 

" That 'a it, sir," returns Durdles, quite satisfied, — " at which he takes aim. 
Itookhiminhand, and gave him an object. What was he before ? A destroyer. 
What work did he do? Nothing but destruction. What did he earn by it? 
Short terms in Cloisterham Jail. Not a person, not a piece of property, not a 
winder, not a horse, nor a dog, nor a cat, nor a bird, nor a fowl, nor a pig, but 
what he stoned, for want of an enlightened object. I put that enlightened 
object before him; and now he can turn his honest halfpenny by the three- 
penn'orth a week " 

(Ch. V, xii, xviii, xxiii.) 

Drood, Edwin. The character from whom the story takes its 
name ; a young man left an orphan at an early age, and betrothed, 
in accordance with his father's dying wish, to Miss Rosa Bud, the 
daughter of an old and very dear friend. At the time the story 
opens, the young lady is attending the school of Miss Twinkleton, 
at Cloisterham, and the young gentleman is studying engineering 
in London. Neither of them is reconciled to the thoujiht that 



8ri)e if^2Ster2 of Htitoin Brootr. 617 

their destiny in life has, in a most important respect, been predeter- 
mined for them ; yet the thought of questioning the arrangement 
has not occurred to either; and Edwin runs down to Cloisterham 
every now and then, both to see his intended, and to visit his 
uncle, Mr. Jasper, who is but little older than himself, and is his 
most intimate friend and companion. On one of these occasions, 
he meets at the Reverend Mr. Crisparkle's a young man by the 
name of Neville Landless, and his sister Helena, who are pursuing 
their studies, — the one under Mr. Crisparkle's direction, the other 
at Miss Twinkleton's establishment. The young men take a strong 
dislike to each other. Edwin thinks Neville's sister vastly superior 
to her brother ; while the latter is disgusted by the air of proprie- 
torship with which Edwin treats Rosa, whom he thinks an alto- 
gether beautiful and attractive girl. They escort the young ladies 
home for the night, and then repair, at the invitation of Mr. Jas- 
per, to his lodgings to have a glass of wine. The drink is mixed 
for them by their host; and, although they take only a moderate 
quantity, it seems to madden them; for from sarcastic remarks 
they soon come to open violence, when they are separated by Jas- 
per, who takes young Neville home, and reports his conduct to IMr. 
Crisparkle. In the morning, Edwin departs for London, and Mr. 
Crisparkle is consequently unable to bring about an immediate re- 
conciliation ; but he resolves to do so on the first opportunity that 
offers. He talks about the matter to Neville, who expresses him- 
self willing to make an apology ; and Mr. Jasper writes to Edwin, 
who replies that he shall be glad to make any amends for his hasty 
display of temper. It is therefore arranged that the young men 
shall meet again at Mr. Jasper's rooms, and " shake hands, and say no 
more about it." Before revisiting Cloisterham, Edwin calls on Rosa's 
guardian, Mr. Grewgious, who gives him a wedding-ring, which be 
'onged to her departed mother, and charges him to look carefully into 
bis own heart before making Rosa his wife ; for, although the marriage 
was a wish dear both to his own father and to hers, he ought not to 
commit himself to such a step for no higher reason than because he 
has long been accustomed to look forward to it. Edwin departs, and, 
deeply pondering the injunction of Mr. Grewgious, becomes convinced 
that the marriage ought not to take place. He resolves to have a 
frank conversation with Rosa, feeling well assured that her views 
will coincide with his own. Repairing to the Nuns' House, he 
«eeks her with this intention, but finds himself anticipated ; for shu 
44 



518 STDe Sicfeens Sictfonatg. 

enters at once upon the subject herself. The result is, that, although 
they agree to remain the best of friends, they cease to be lovers, and 
resolve to send at once for Mr. Grewgious, and communicate their 
determination to him, but to be quite silent upon the subject to all 
others, until his arrival. Edwin's sole anxiety, as he tells Kosa, is for 
his uncle, Avhom he dearly loves, and who, as he believes, has set his 
heart on the union. Although Rosa does not declare her thoughts, 
she yet believes that the breaking-off of the match will not be so 
great a disappointment to Mr. Jasper as Edwin thinks, having good 
reason to know that he is himself deeply in love with her. They 
separate for the night, the young man going to his uncle's to meet 
Neville Landless, who, after promising Mr. Crisparkle that he will 
curb his impetuous temper, directs his steps to the same place. 

The next mornino-, Edwin Drood is nowhere to be found; and 
young Landless sets out early for a two-weeks' ramble through the 
neighboring country. Mr. Jasper, becoming alarmed at the disap- 
pearance of his nephew, arouses the town. He says that the young 
men, after meeting at his room, went out together for a walk near the 
river. The feud between them is well known ; and dark suspicions 
are entertained of foul play. Young Landless is followed and 
arrested. The river is dragged, and no body is discovered ; but a 
watch, identified as Edwin's, is found ; and a jeweller testifies that he 
wound and set it for him at twenty minutes past two on the afternoon 
of his arrival, and that it had run down before being cast into the 
water. Further than this, nothing can be discovered, and, as there is 
not evidence enough to warrant Neville's detention, he is set at lib- 
erty. So strong is the popular feeling against him, however, that he 
is forced to leave the town, and takes up his residence in an obscure 
part of London. Here he is visited by Mr. Crisparkle, who ifirmly 
believes in his innocence ; and here he is watched and dogged by Mr. 
Jasper, who has taken a solemn oath to devote his life to ferreting out 
the murderer. 

Although the reader is left in the dark, by the abrupt termi- 
nation of the novel, as to who is the guilty party, he is led to believe 
that Mr. Jasper is the real assassin. He is desperately in love with 
Rosa ; though she thoroughly dislikes and despises him. After the 
death of Edwin, he visits her, and declares his love, promising to 
forego his pursuit of young Landless, in whom she is deeply inter- 
ested, if she will give him some encouragement. He shows himself at 
least to be fully capable of the crime ; and he is suspected by Rosa 
berself and by Mr. Grewgious. (Ch. ii, vii, viii, xi, xiii, xiv.^ 



JTlje if^gstcrg of HlJtoin ©cooU. 519 

Durdles. A stone-mason ; chiefly in tiie grave-stone, tomb, and 
monument way, and wholly of their color from head to foot. (Ch. 
iv, xii, xiv.) 

No man is better known in Cloisterham. He is the chartered libertine of the 
place. Fame trumpets him a wonderful workman — which, for aught that any- 
body knows, he may be (as he never works) — and a wonderful sot, which 
ever3'^body knows he is. With tlae cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than 
any living authority : it may even be than any dead one. It is said that the 
intimacy of this acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to that secret 
place to lock out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep off the fumes of 
liquor; he having ready access to the cathedral as contractor for rough repairs. 
Be this as it may, he does know much about it, and in the demolition of 
impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and pavement, has seen strange 
sights. He often speaks of himself in the third person; perhaps being a little 
misty as to his own identity when he narrates, perhaps impartially adopting 
the Cloisterham nomenclature in reference to a character of acknowledged dis- 
tinction. Thus he will say, touching liis strange sights, " Durdles come upon 
the old chap," in reference to a buried magnate of ancient time and high degree, 
" by striking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles a 
look with his open eyes, as much as to say, ' Is your name Durdles ? Why, my 
man, I 've been waiting for you a devil of a time I ' and then he turned to pow- 
der." With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and a mason's hammer all but 
always in his hand, Durdles goes continually sounding and tapping all about 
and about the cathedral ; and whenever he says to Tope, " Tope, here 's another 
old 'un in here," Tope announces it to the dean as an established discovery. 

Mr. Jasper visits the cathedral one night with Durdles, whom he 
plies with liquor until he falls asleep ; and he improves the opportu- 
nity to make an extended examination of the crypt, using the keys 
of his companion to obtain admission into its locked-up recesses. 
For what purpose this exploration is made does not appear, but, 
probably, for the sake of finding a safe hiding-place for the body 
of Edwin Drood, whom Jasper, as the reader is led to infer, has 
made up his mind to put out of the way. See Deputy. 
Ferdinand, Miss. A pupil at Miss Twinkleton's school. (Ch. ix, 

xiii.) 
Giggles, Miss. Another pupil at the same school, (Ch. ix, xiii.) 
Grewgious, Hiram, Esquire. Miss Rosa Bud's guardian, and 
" a particularly angular man." (Ch. ix, xi, xv-xvii, xx-xxii.) 

He was an arid, sandy man, who, if he had been put into a grinding mill, looked 
as if he would have come out immediately into high-dried snuff. He had a 
scanty, flat crop of hair, in color and consistency like some very mangy yellow 
fur tippet : it was so unlike hair, that it must have been a wig, but for the stu- 
pendous improbability of anybody's voluntarily sporting such a head. The 
little play of feature that his face presented was cut deep into it in a few hard 
curves that made it more like work ; and he had certain notches in his forehead 
which looked as though Nature had been about to touch them into sensibility or 
refinement, when she had impatiently thrown away the chisel, and said, '" I really 
cannot be worried to finish ofl" this man : let him go as he is." 



320 8r|)e ISicftens iBictfonarj. 

With too great length of throat at his upper end, and too much ankle-bcne 
and lieel at his lower; with an awkward and hesitating manner; with a sham- 
bling walk, and with what is called a near sight — which, perhaps, prevented 
his observing how much white cotton stocking he displayed to the public 
eye, in contrast with his black suit, — Mr. Grewgious still had some strange 
capacity in him of making, on the whole, an agreeable impression. 

After the disappearance of Edwin Drood, Mr. Grewgious has an 
interview with Jasper, whose appearance and conduct is such as to 
excite the strongest suspicions of his being the murderer of that 
young gentleman. He keeps his thoughts to himself, however ; but 
when Rosa, pursued by Jasper, goes to London to throw herself on 
her guardian's protection, he astonishes his little ward by his indig- 
nation, exclaiming with a sudden rush of amazing energy, — 

'* Damn him I 
Confound his politics I 
Frustrate his knavish tricks I 
On thee his hopes to fix ? 
Damn him again I " 

After this most extraordinary outburst, Mr. Grewgious, quite beside himself, 
plunged about the room, to all appearance, undecided whether he was in a fit of 
loyal enthusiasm, or combative denunciation. 

He stopped and said, wiping his face, '' I beg your pardon, my dear; but you 
will be glad to know I feel better. Tell me no more just now, or I might do it 
again." 

He immediately sets about making his ward comfortable, pro- 
cures lodgings for her, makes arrangements for Miss Twinkleton's 
staying with her as a companion and friend, and devotes himself to 
investigating the mystery of Edwin Drood's sudden disappear- 
ance. 
Honeythunder, Mr. Luke. Chairman of the Convened Chief 
Composite Committee of Central and District Philanthropists, and 
guardian of Neville and Helena Landless. He is a large man, 
with a tremendous voice, and an appearance of being constantly 
engaged in crowding everybody to the wall. 

Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by 
public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures, " Curse your souls 
and bodies 1 come here and be blessed I " still his philanthropy was of that gun- 
powderous sort, that the difference between it and animosity was hard to deter- 
mine. You were to abolish military force; but you were first to bring all 
ROmmanding officers who had done their duty to trial by court-martial for that 
ofi"ence, and shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts 
by making war upon them, and charging them with loving war as the apple of 
their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep 
off the face of the earth all legislators, jurists, and judges who were of the 
contrary opinion. You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by 
eliminating all the people who would n't, or conscientiously could n't, be con 



STije if^sstetg of JStitDin Urooti. 521 

cordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an indefinite 
interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and calling him 
all manner of names. Above all things, you were to do nothing in private 
or on your own account. You were to go to the offices of the Haven of Philan- 
thropy, and put your name down as a member and a professing philanthro- 
pist; then you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of membership, 
and your ribbon and medal, and were evermore to live upon a platform, and 
evermore to say what Mr. Honeythunder said, and what the treasurer said, and 
what the sub-treasurer said, and what the committee said, and what the sub-com- 
mittee said, and what the secretary said, and what the vice-secretary said. And 
this was usually said in the unanimously-carried resolution under hand and 
seal, to the effect, "That this assembled body of professing philanthropists 
views with indignant scorn and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation 
and loathing abhorrence." — in short, the baseness of all those who do not 
belong to it, and pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possi- 
ble about them, without being at all particular as to facts. 

(Ch. vi, xvii.) 

Jasper, John. A music-master who is employed as choir-master 
in Cloisterham Cathedral ; uncle to Edwin Drood, for whom he pro- 
fesses the strongest affection. 

Mr. Jasper is a dark man of some six and twenty, with thick, lustrous, well 
arranged black hair and whisker. He looks older than he is, as dark men often 
do. His voice is deep and good, his face and figure are good, his manner is a 
little sombre. 

Jasper is addicted to the use of opium, and resorts every now 
and then to a miserable hole in London, where the drug is prepared 
in a peculiar form by an old hag, and where he smokes himself into 
the wildest dreams. He goes to this place after the disappearance 
of Edwin Drood, and is followed, wHen he leaves, by the old 
woman, who thus ascertains who and what he is. The two are, in 
turn, watched by Mr. Datchery, who appears well satisfied on dis- 
covering the connection between them. (Ch. i, ii, iv, v, vii-x, xii, 
xiv-xvi, xviii, xix, xxii, xxiii.) 

vJennings, Miss. A pupil at Miss Twinkleton's Seminary for 
Young Ladies. (Ch. ix.) 

Joe. Driver of an omnibus, which is the daily service between 
Cloisterham and external mankind. (Ch. vi, xv, xx.) 

Ijandless, Helena. A native of Ceylon, but the child of English 
parents ; a ward of Mr. Honeythunder's, who sends her to Miss 
Twinkleton's School for Young Ladies in Cloisterham, where she 
becomes the friend and confidante of Rosa Bud. She is an un- 
usually handsome, lithe girl, very dark and rich in color, — almost 
of the gypsy type, — with something untamed about her, as there 
is, also, about her twin-brother Neville. 
44* 



522 2r|)e 23icfeens Bfctfonars. 

A certain air upon them of hunter and huntress ; yet, withal, a certain air 
of being the objects of the chase, rather than the followers. Slender, supple, 
quickof eye and limb, half-shy, half-defiant, fierce of look; an indefinable kind 
of pause coming and going on their whole expression both of face and form, 
which might be equally likened to the pause before a crouch or a bound. 

(Ch. vi, vii, X, xiii, xiv, xxii.) 

Landless, Neville. Her brother, studying with the Reverend 
Mr. Crisparkle, and suspected of the murder of Edwin Drood. (Ch. 
vi-viii, x, xii, xiv-xvii.) 

Lobley, Mr. A boatman in the service of Mr. Tartar, — " the 
dead image of the sun in old woodcuts," his hair and whisker an- 
swering for rays all around him. (Ch. xxii.) 

Reynolds, Miss. A pupil at the Nuns' House, Miss Twinkleton's 
Seminary for Young Ladies. (Ch. ix.) 

Rickitts, Miss. Another pupil at the same establishment. 

Sapsea, Mr. Thomas. An auctioneer, afterwards mayor of 
Cloisterham. 

Accepting the jackass as the type of self-sufficient stupidity and conceit, — a 
custom, perhaps, like some few other customs, more conventional than fair, — 
then the purest jackass in Cloisterham is Mr. Thomas Sapsea, auctioneer. 

Mr. Sapsea " dresses at " the dean ; has been bowed to for the dean, in mis- 
take; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under the impression 
that he was the bishop come down unexpectedly, without his chaplain. Mr. 
Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice and of his style. He has even 
(in selling landed property) tried the experiment of slightly intoning in his pul- 
pit, to make himself more like what he takes to be the genuine ecclesiastical 
article : so, in ending a sale by public auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an 
air of bestowing a benediction on the assembled brokers, which leaves the real 
dean — a modest and worthy gentleman — far behind. 

Mr. Sapsea has many admirers : indeed, the proposition is carried by a large 
local majority, even including non-believers in his wisdom, that he is a credit 
to Cloisterham. He possesses the great qualities of being portentous and dull, 
and of having a roll in his speech, and another roll in his gait; not to mention 
a certain gravely-flowing action with his hands, as if he were presently going to 
confirm the individual with whom he holds discourse. Much nearer sixty years 
of age than fifty ; with a flowing outline of stomach, and horizontal creases in 
his waistcoat ; reputed to be rich ; voting at elections in the strictly respecta- 
ble interest; morally satisfied that nothing but he himself has grown -since he 
was a baby, — how can dunder-headed Mr. Sapsea be otherwise than a credit to 
Cloisterham and society ? 

Having lost his wife, Mr. Sapsea determines to compose an epi- 
taph for her tombstone, that shall strike all ordinary minds with 
awe and confusion. When this literary thunderbolt is forged, be 
calls in Mr. Jasper to get his opinion of it. Not to astound the 
young man by immediately launching this masterpiece of scholastic 
workmanship at him, Mr. Sapsea considerately begins by explain- 
ing how he came, first by his extensive knowledge, secondly by his 



CTije P^gsterfi of IStJhjin liBroolr. 525 

nrife. The lady thus honored was a Miss Brobity, the mistress of 
a school in Cloisterham. 

" She revered mind when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an extensive 
knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did me the honor to 
be so overshadowed with a species of awe, as to be able to articulate only the 
:wo words, 'Oh, thou I ' — meaning myself. Her limpid blue eyes were fixed 
ipon me ; her semi-transparent hands were clasped together ; pallor overspread 
jer aquiline features ; and, though encouraged to proceed, she never did proceed 
I word further. I disposed of the parallel establishment by private contract; 
ind we became as nearly one as could be expected under the circumstances, 
iut she never could, and she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps 
oo favorable estimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of liver), 
ihe addressed me in the same unfinished terms." 

Mr. Jasper has closed his eyes as the auctioneer has deepened his voice. He 
now abruptly opens them, and says, in unison with the deepened voice, "Ah I " 
rather as if stopping himself on the extreme verge of adding, "men I " 

" I have been since," says Mr. Sapsea, with his legs stretched out, and solemnly 
enjoying himself with the wine and the fire, " what you behold me; I have been 
since a solitary mourner; I have been since, as I say, wasting my evening con- 
versation on the desert air. I will not say that I have reproached myself; but 
there have been times when I have asked myself the question, ' What if her 
husband had been nearer on a level with her ? If she had not had to look up 
quite so high, what miglit the stimulating action have been upon the liver ? ' " 

Mr. Jasper says, with an appearance of having fallen into dreadfully low 
spirits, that he " supposes it was to be." 

" We can only suppose so, sir," Mr. Sapsea coincides. "As I say, man pro- 
poses, heaven disposes. It may or may not be putting the same thought in 
another form; but that is the way I put it." 

Mr. Jasper murmurs assent. 

"And now, Mr. Jasper," resumes the auctioneer, producing his scrap of 
manuscript, " Mrs. Sapsea's monument having had full time to settle and 
dry, let me take your opinion, as a man of taste, on the inscription I have (as 
I before remarked, not without some little fever of the brow) drawn out for it. 
Take it in your own hand : the setting-out of the lines requires to be followed 
»vith the eye, as well as the contents with the mind." 

Mr. Jasper, complying, sees and reads as follows : — 

ETHELINDA, 

Reverential Wife of 
ME. THOMAS SAPSEA, 

AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, «fcC., 

OF THIS CITY, 

WHOSE KNOWLEDGE OF THE WOELD, 

THOUGH SOMEWHAT EXTENSIVE, 

NEVER BROUGHT HIM ACQUAINTED WITH 

A SPIRIT 

MOEE CAPABLE OF 

LOOKING UP TO HIM. 

STRANGER, PAUSE, 

AND ASK THYSELF THE QUESTION, 

CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE ? 

IP NOT, 

WITH A BLUSH RETIEE. 



524 ^1^5 2I3fcltens JDictionarj. 

"Admirable I " quoth Mr. Jasper, banding back the paper. 
" You approve, sir ? " 

" Impossible not to approve. Striking, characteristic, and complete.'* 
The auctioneer inclines his head, as one accepting his due and giving a re- 
ceipt. 

(Ch. iv, xii, xiv-xvi, xviii.) 

Tartar, Lieutenant. An ex-officer of the Royal Navy, who lias 

come into possession of a fortune, and has retired from the service. 

A handsome gentleman, with a young face, but an older figure in its robust- 
ness and its breadth of shoulder, — say a man of eight and twenty, or, at the 
utmost, thirty, — so extremely sunburnt, that the contrast between his brown 
visage and the white forehead, shaded out of doors by his hat, and the glimpses 
of wliite throat below the neckerchief, would have been almost ludicrous, but 
for his broad temples, bright blue eyes, clustering brown hair, and laughing 
teeth. 

He becomes the friend of Neville Landless, and makes the ac- 
quaintance of Rosa Bud, whose husband, it is probable, Mr. Dickens 
intended him to become. (Ch. xvii, xxi, xxii.) 

Tisher, Mrs. A deferential widow, with a weak back, a chronic 
sigh, and a suppressed voice, who looks after the young ladies' 
wardrobes at the Nuns' House, Miss Twinkleton's seminary at 
Cloisterham. (Ch. ii, vii, ix, xiii.) 

Tope, Mr. Chief verger of Cloisterham Cathedral. (Ch. ii, vi, xii, 
xiv, xvi, xviii, xxiii.) 

Tope, Mrs. His wife. (Ch. ii, xii, xiv, xvi, xviii, xxiii.) 

Twinkleton, Miss. Mistress of a boarding-school for young 
ladies in Cloisterham, attended by Rosa Bud and Helena Landless. 
(Ch. iii, vi, vii, ix, xiii, xxii.) 

In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns' House, a venerable brick edi- 
fice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from the legend of its con- 
ventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its old courtyard is a resplendent 
brass plate, flashing forth the legend, *' Seminary for Young Ladies. Miss 
Twinkleton." The house-front is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so 
shining and staring, that the general result has reminded imaginative strangers 
of a battered old beau with a large modern eye-glass stuck in his blind eye. 

Miss Twinkleton has two distinct and separate phases of being. Every 
night, the moment the young ladies have retired to rest, does Miss Twinkleton 
smarten up her curls a little, brighten up her eyes a little, and become a spright- 
lier Miss Twinkleton than the young ladies have ever seen. Every night, at 
the same hour, does Miss Twinkleton resume the topics of the previous night, 
comprehending the tenderer scandal of Cloisterham, of which she has no knowl- 
edge whatever by day, and references to a certain season at Tunbridge Wells 
(airily called by Miss Twinkleton, in this state of her existence, " The Wells ")> 
notably the season wherein a certain finished gentleman (compassionately called 
by Miss Twinkleton, in this state of her existence, " Foolish Mr. Porters ") re- 
vealed a homage of the heart, whereof Miss Twinkleton, in her scholastic state 
of existence, is as ignorant as a granite pillar. 



Heprtnteb l^uctB. 



Under this name, thirty-one sketches, all of them originally published in 
" Household Words," between the years 1850 and 1856, were first brought together 
In 1858, and published in the twelfth volume of the " Library Edition " of Dickens's 
works, issued jointly by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, and Messfs. Bradbury and 
Evans. In the pages here devoted to these "Reprinted Pieces," several are 
wholly left out of view; the characters in them being nameless, and therefore not 
falling within the scope of this Dictionary. 



CHABACTER8 INTRODUCED. 

THE LONG VOYAGE. 
(Containing recollections of various incidents of travel.) 

Bligh, Captain. Master of " The Bounty ; " turned adrift on the 

wide ocean in an open boat. 
Brimer, Mr. Fifth mate of " The Halsewell." 
Christian, Fletcher. One of the officers of " The Bounty ; " a 

mutineer. 
Christian, Thursday October. A native of Pitcaim's Island ; 

son of Fletcher Christian by a savage mother. 
Macmanus, Mr. A midshipman in board of " The Halsewell,** 

an East-Indiaman wrecked on the island of Purbeck. 
Mansel, Miss. A passenger on the same ship. 
Meriton, Mr. Henry. Second mate of " The Halsewell/' 
Pierce, Captain. Master of " The Halsewell." 
Pierce, Miss Mary. His daughter. 
Rogers, Mr. Third mate of" The Halsewell." 
Bchutz, Mr. A passenger in the same ship. 

525 



626 SJe Bfcfeens IBEctfonars. 



THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 

Southcote, Mr. One of the many aliases of a professional swin- 
dler, who writes letters soliciting money for the relief of his neces- 
sities. 

Southcote, Mrs. His wife. 

OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 

{Mills, Miss Julia. A sentimental novel-reader, who figures also 
in " David Copperfield " as the bosom-friend of Dora Spenlow. 

She has left marginal notes on the pages, as " Is not this truly touching? — 
J. M." " How thrilling ! — J. M." " Entranced here by the magician's potent 
spell. — J. M." She has also Italicised her favorite traits in the description of the 
hero, as '* His hair, which was dark and wavy, clustered in rich profusion around 
a marble brow,^whose lofty paleness bespoke the intellect within." It reminds 
her of another hero. She adds, "How like B. L.I Can this be mere coinci- 
dence?— J. M.» 

Peepy, The Honorable Miss. The beauty of her day, but long 
deceased. 

OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 

Loyal Derasseur, M. Citizen, town-councillor, and landlord. 
He is an old soldier, and a stanch admirer of the great Napoleon. 

His respect for the memory of the illustrious general is enthusiastic. Medal- 
lions of him, portraits of him, busts of him, pictures of him, are thickly sprinkled 
all over the property. During the first month of our occupation, it was our afflic- 
tion to be constantly knocking down Napoleon : if we touched a shelf in a dark 
corner, he toppled over with a crash ; and every door we opened shook him to 
the soul. Yet M. Loyal is not a man of mere castles in the air, or, as he would 
say, in Spain. He has a specially practical, contriving, clever, skilful eye and 
hand. His houses are delightful. He unites French elegance and English 
comfort in a happy manner quite his own. He has an extraordinary genius for 
making tasteful little bed-rooms in angles of his roofs, which an Englishman 
would as soon think of turning to any account as he would think of cultivating 
the desert. We have ourselves reposed deliciously in an elegant chamber of 
M. Loyal's construction, with our head as nearly in the kitchen chimney-pot as 
we can conceive it likely for the head of any gentleman, not by profession a 
sweep, to be. . . . M. Loyal's nature is the nature of a gentleman. He culti- 
vates his ground with his own hands (assisted by one little laborer, who falls 
into a fit now and then); and he digs and delves from morn to eve in prodigious 
perspirations — "works always." as he says, — but cover him with dust, mud, 
weeds, water, any stains you will, you never can cover the gentleman in 
M. Loyal. A portly, upright, broad-shouldered, brown-faced man, whose sol- 
dierly bearing gives him the appearance of being taller than he is. Look into the 
bright eye of M. Loyal, standing before you in his working blouse and cap, not 
particularly well shaved, and, it may be, very earthy, and you shall discern in 
M. Loyal a gentleman whose true politeness is ingrain, and confirmation of 
whose word by his bond you would blush to think of. 



HeprititeTi 33ieces. 5t^7 

Perooe, M. A gentleman " in the batliing line ; " immensely 
stout, of a beaming aspect, and of very mild and polished manners. 

BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON. 

Bigby, Mrs. MotherofMrs. Meek, and a most remarkable woman. 

Her son-in-law says of her, — 

In my opinion, she would storm a town, single-handed, with a hearth-broom, 
and carry it. I have never known her to yield any point whatever to mortal 
man. She is calculated to terrify the stoutest heart. 

Meek, Augustus George. Infant son of Mr. George Meek. 

Meek, Mr. George. The narrator of the story ; a quiet man, of 
small stature, a weak voice, and a tremulous constitution. He ia 
made utterly miserable by the manner in which his infant child is 
smothered and rasped and dosed and bandaged by the nurse, 
aided and abetted by his wife's mother ; and he is betrayed into 
expressing himself warmly on the subject, notwithstanding his wish 
to avoid giving rise to words in the family. 

Meek, Mrs. His wife. 

Prodgit, Mrs. Mrs. Meek's nurse ; considered by Mr. Meek to 
be "from first to last a convention and a superstition," whom the 
medical faculty ought to take in hand and improve. 

One afternoon ... I came home earlier than usual from the office, and, pro- 
ceeding into the dining-room, found an obstruction behind the door, which 
prevented it from opening freely. It was an obstruction .of a soft nature. On 
looking in, I found it to be a female, who stood in the corner, behind the door, 
consuming sherry-wine. From the nutty smell of that beverage pervading the 
apartment, I have no doubt she was consuming a second glassful. She wore 
a black bonnet of large dimensions, and was copious in figure. The expression 
of her countenance was severe and discontented. The words to which she gave 
utterance on seeing me were these, " Oh I git along with you, sir, if you please. 
Me and Mrs. Bigby don't want no male parties here." 

LYING AWAKE. 

Winking Charley, A sturdy vagrant in one of her Majesty's 
jails, who, like her Majesty, like the author, like everybody else, has 
had many astonishing experiences in his dreams. 

THE POOR RELATION'S STORY. 

[One of the tales in " A Round of Stories by the Christmas Fire," the Christmas 
number of " Household Words " for 1852.] 

Chill, Uncle. An avaricious, crabbed old man ; uncle to Michael. 

Christiana. An old sweetheart of Michael's, to whom he imagines 

that he is married. 



528 5r|)e Wic^ens IDfctfonarg. 

Frank, Little. A cousin of Michael's ; a diffident boy, for whom 
he has a particular affection. 

Michael. The " poor relation," and the narrator of the story, which 
hinges upon a fancy of what might have been. Premising that he 
is not what he is supposed to be, he proceeds, in the first place, 
to state what he is supposed to be, and then goes on to tell what 
his life and habits and belongings really are. He is thought to be 
very poor : in fact, he is rich. He is thought to be friendless ; but 
he has the best of friends. He is thought to have been refused by 
a lady whom he loved : it is a mistake ; he married the lady, and 
has a happy family around him. He is thought to live in a lodging 
in the Clapham Road : in reality, he lives in a castle — in the air. 

Snap, Betsey. Uncle Chill's only domestic ; a withered, hard- 
favored, yellow old woman. 

Spatter, John. Michael's host, whom he feigns to have been first 
his clerk, and afterwards his partner. 

THE CHILD'S STORY. 

[One of the tales in " A Round of Stories by the Christmas Fire," the Christmas 
number of " Household Words " for 1852.] 

Fanny. One of the prettiest girls that ever was seen, in love with 
" Somebody." 

THE SCHOOL-BOY'S STORY. 

Cheeseman, Old. A poor boy at a boarding-school, who is a 
general favorite with his fellows, until he is made second Latin 
master ; when they all agree in regarding him as a spy and a desert- 
er, who has sold himself for gold (two pound ten a quarter, and 
his washing). After this, his Ufe becomes very miserable ; for 
the master and his wife look down upon him, and snub him ; while the 
boys persecute him in many ways, and even form a society for the 
express purpose of making a set against him. One morning, he is 
missed from his place ; and it is thought at first, by the pupils, that, 
unable to stand it any longer, he has got up early, and drowned 
himself. It turns out, however, that he has come into a laro-e for- 
tune, — a fact which puts a very different face upon matters, making 
the master obsequious, and the scholars afraid for the consequences 
of what they have done. But " Old Cheeseman *' is not in the least 
puffed up or changed by his sudden prosperity, addresses them as 
" his dear companions and old friends," and gives them a magnifi- 
cant spread in the dining-room. 



aaeprfnteti 33fece». 629 

Pitt, Jane. A sort of wardrobe woman to the boys. Though a 
good friend to the boys, she is also a good friend to " Old Cheese- 
man ; " and, the more they go against him, the more she stands by 
him. It is, therefore, only a natural thing, and one to be expected, 
that, when " Old Cheeseman " succeeds to his grandfather's large 
property, he should share it with her by making her his wife. 

Tartar, Bob. The " first boy " in the school, and president of the 
" Society " formed for the purpose of annoying " Old Cheeseman.'* 

NOBODY'S STORY. 

Bigwig Family, The. A large household, composed of stately 
and noisy people, professed humanitarians, who do nothing but 
blow trumpets, and hold convocations, and make speeches, and 
write pamphlets, and quarrel among themselves. 

Nobody, otherwise Legion. The narrator of the story, which, 
under the guise of an allegory, contains an appeal to the governing 
classes in behalf of the poor, and an argument for their proper in- 
struction and rational amusement as a means of preventing drunk- 
enness, debauchery, and crime. 

THE GHOST OF ART. 
(A satire on the Art Exhibitions of the Royal Academy.) 
Parkins, Mrs. A laundress, who invariably disregards all in- 
structions. 

OUT OF TOWN. 

(A description of a little town named Pavilionstone, which has become a favorite 

seaside resort.) 

Within a quarter of a century, it was a little fishing-town; and they do say, 
that the time was, when it was a little smuggling town. . . . Now, gas and 
electricity run to the very water's edge, and the South-Eastern Railway Com- 
pany screech at us in the dead of night. . . . We are a little mortary and limy 
at present ; but we are getting on capitally. Indeed, we were getting on so fast, 
at one time, that we rather overdid it, and built a street of shops, the business 
of which may be expected to arrive in about ten years. We are sensibly laid out, 
in general, and, with a little care and pains (by no means wanting, so far), shall 
become a very pretty place. We ought to be ; for our situation is delightful ; our 
air is delicious ; and our breezy hills and downs, carpeted with wild thyme, and 
decorated with millions of wild flowers, are, on the faith of a pedestrian, perfect, 

OUT OF THE SEASON. 
Blocker, Mr. A grocer. 

Wedgington, Mr. B. A singer and clog-dancer, who gives an 
exhibition at a watering-place, after the " season " is over. 
45 



530 2:|)e mittens 3©tctfonat:2. 

Wedgington, Mrs. B. His wife ; a singer and pianist. 
Wedgington, Master B. Her infant son, aged ten months; 

nursed by a shivering young person in the boxes, while his mothei 

is on the stage. 

A POOR MAN'S TALE OF A PATENT. 

Butcher, Williara. A Chartist ; friend to John. 

John, The narrator of the story ; a poor man, a smith by trade, 
who undertakes to obtain a patent on an invention which he has 
been twenty years in perfecting. He succeeds in doing so only 
after going through thirty-five distinct stages of obeying forms and 
paying fees, at a cost of ninety-six pounds, seven, and eightpence, 
though nobody opposes his application. 

Joy, Thomas. A carpenter with whom John lodges in London. 

A FLIGHT. 

Compact Enchantress, The. A French actress. 

Diego, Don. Inventor of the last new flying-machine. 

Zamiel. A tall, grave, melancholy Frenchman, with whom (and 

with other passengers) the writer takes a flying trip from London 

to Paris. 

THE DETECTIVE POLICE. 

Clarkson. Counsel for Shepherdson and other thieves traced out 

and arrested by Sergeant Mith. 
Dornton, Sergeant. A detective police-officer; a man about 

fifty years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt forehead. 

He is famous for steadily pursuing the inductive process, working 

on from clew to clew until he bags his man. 
Dundey, Doctor. A man who robs a bank in Ireland, and escapes 

to America, whither he is followed and captured by Sergeant 

Dornton. 
Pendall, Sergeant. A detective police-officer; a light-haired, 

well-spoken, polite person, and a prodigious hand at pursuing pri- 
vate inquiries of a delicate nature. 
Fikey. A man accused of forgery ; taken prisoner by Inspector 

Field. 
Mesheck, Aaron. A Jew, who gets acceptances from young men 

of good connections (in the army chiefly), on pretence of discount, 

and decamps with the same. He is finally found by Sergeant 

Dornton in the Tombs prison, in New York City. 



Mith, Sergeant. A detective police-officer ; a smooth-faced man 
with a fresh, bright complexion, and a strange air of simplicity. 
He is a dab at housebreakers. 

Pigeon, Thomas. See Thompson, Tally-ho. 

Shepherdson, Mr. A thief, who informs detective Mith (who, 
under the disguise of a young butcher from the country, has gained 
his confidence) that he is going " to hang out for a while " at the 
Setting Moon, in the Commercial Road, where he is afterwards 
found, and is taken into custody. 

Stalker, Mr. Inspector. A detective police-officer; a shrewd, 
hard-headed Scotchman ; in appearance not at all unlike a very 
acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster from the Normal Establish- 
ment at Glassrow. 

Straw, Sergeant. A detective ; a little, wiry man of meek de- 
meanor, and strong sense, who would knock at a door, and ask a 
series of questions in any mild character you choose to prescribe to 
him, from a charity-boy upward ; and seem as innocent as an 
infant. 

Thompson, Tally-ho, alias Thomas Pigeon. A famous horse- 
stealer, couper, and magsman, tracked to a lonely inn in Northamp- 
tonshire, by Sergeant Witchem, who, single-handed, arrests him, 
and takes him to London ; thousrh he has two big; and usly-looking 
companions with him at the time. 

Wield, Mr. Inspector. A detective police-officer ; a middle- 
aged man, of a portly presence, with a large moist, knowing eye, a 
husky voice, and a habit of emphasizing his conversation by the 
aid of a corpulent fore-finger which is constantly in juxtaposition 
with his eyes and nose. 

Witchem. A detective ; a short, thick-set man, marked with the 
small-pox, and having something of a reserved and thoughtful air, 
as if he were engaged in deep arithmetical calculations. He is 
renowned for his acquaintance with the swell mob. 

THREE •' DETECTIVE" ANECDOTES. 

Grimwood, Eliza, called The Countess. A handsome young 
woman, found lying dead, with her throat cut, on the floor of hei 
bed-room, in the Waterloo Road. 

Phibbs, Mr. A haberdasher. 

Tatt, Mr. A gentleman formerly in the public line ; quite an ama- 
teur detective in his way. He loses a diamond pin in a scrimmage 



532 2rN IlBfcfeens ©fctfonar^. 

which is recovered by his friend Sergeant Witchem, who sees the 
man who took it, and while they are all down on the floor together, 
knocking about, touches him on the back of his hand, as his " pal " 
would ; and he thinks it is his pal, and gives it to him. 
Trinkle, Mr. A young man suspected of the murder of Eliza 
Grimwood, but proved innocent. 

ON DUTY WITH INSPECTOR FIELD. 

Bark, Bully. A lodging-house keeper, and a receiver of stolen 

goods, who lives in the innermost recesses of the worst part of 

London. 

Bark is a red villain and a wrathful, with a sanguine throat, that looks very 
much as if it were expressly made for hanging, as he stretches ip out, in pale 
defiance, over the half-door of his hutch. Bark's parts of speech are of an 
awful sort, — principally adjectives. I won't, says Bark, have no adjective police 
and adjective strangers in my adjective premises. I won't, by adjective and 
substantive I Give me my trousers, and I '11 send the Whole adjective police to 
adjective and substantive I Give me, says Bark, my adjective trousers I I 'U 
put an adjective knife in the whole bileing of 'em. I '11 punch their adjective 
heads. I '11 rip up their adjective substantives. Give me my adjective trousers, 
says Bark, and I'll spile the bileing of 'em. 

Black. A constable, who, with his fellow-constable Green, accom- 
panies Inspector Field to Wentworth Street to unveil its midnight 
mysteries. 

Blackey. An impostor, who has stood soliciting charity near Lon- 
don Bridge for five and twenty years, with a painted skin, to repre- 
sent disease. 

Click, Mr. A vagabond. 

Field, Inspector. A detective officer, who accompanies the wri- 
• ter, by night, to the lowest parts of London, visiting Eats* Castle 
(a dark, close cellar, a lodging-house for thieves, near Saint Giles's 
Church), the old Farm-House near the Old Mint, the sailors' 
dance-houses, in the region of Ratcliffe Highway, the low haunts 
of Wentworth Street, and revealing the worst mysteries of the 
great city. 

Green. A constable, who, with another constable, named Black, 
acts as an escort to Inspector Field, on his visiting Wentworth 
Street. 

Miles, Bob. A vagabond and jail-bird. 

Parker. A constable who attends Inspector Field on the occasion 
of his visit to the " Old Mint." 



jKleprfntelr 33fece». 533 

Rogers. A constable who goes with Inspector Field to Rats' 

Castle. 
Warwick, The Earl of. A thief, so called. 
White. A constable who shows Inspector Field and his visitor the 

lodging-houses in Rotten Gray's Inn Lane. 
Williams. A constable who pilots Inspector Field and his visitor 

to the sailors' dance-houses in the neighborhood of Ratcliffe Hio-h- 

way. 

DOWN WITH THE TIDE. 

Pea, or Peacoat. A river policeman, with whom the writer goes 

down the Thames, at night, on a tour of inspection. 
Waterloo. A toll-taker, so called, at the bridge of that name. 

PRINCE BULL: A FAIRY TALE. 

Bear, Prince. An enemy of Prince Bull ; intended as a personi- 
fication of Russia. 

Bull, Prince. A powerful prince, married to a lovely princess 
named Fair Freedom, who brought him a large fortune, and has 
borne him an immense number of children. 

He had gone through a great deal of fighting, in his time, about all sorts of 
things, including nothing; but had gradually settled down to be a steady, 
peaceable, good-natured, corpulent, rather sleepy prince. 

Under this name the English Government is satirized, with espe- 
cial reference to its bungling, inefficient prosecution of the Crimean 
war, and its obstinate adherence, under all circumstances, to mere 
official routine and formality. 
Tape. A malicious old beldame ; godmother to Prince Bull. 

She was a fairy, this Tape, and was a bright red all over. She was disgust- 
ingly prim and formal, and could never bend herself a hair's-breadth, this way 
or that way, out of her naturally crooked shape. But she was very potent in 
her wicked art. She could stop the fastest thing in the world, change the strong. 
est thing into the weakest, and the most useful into the most useless. To do 
this she has only to put her cold hand upon it, and repeat her own name, Tape. 
Then it withered away. 

OUR HONORABLE FRIEND. 
Tipkisson. A sadler, a plain, hard-working man, and an opponent 
of " Our Honorable Friend," who is returned to parliament (in 
preference to himself) as the member for Verbosity, — the best rep« 
resented place in England. 



534 ^^^ Hfcltens BCctfonavs* 



OUR SCHOOL 



Blinkins, Mr. Latin-master; a colorless, doubled-up, near-sighted 
man, with a crutch, who is always cold, and always putting 
onions into his ears for deafness, and always disclosing ends of 
flannel under all his garments, and almost always applying a ball 
of pocket-handkerchief to some part of his face with a screwing 
action round and round. 

He was a very good scholar, and took great pains where he saw intelligence 
and a desire to learn; otherwise, perhaps not. Our memory presents him 
(unless teased into a passion) with as little energy as color; as having been 
worried and tormented into monotonous feebleness ; as having had the best 
part of his life ground out of him in a mill of boys. 

Dumbledon, Master. A parlor-boarder; an idiotic, goggled- 
eyed boy, with a big head, and half-crowns without end ; rumored 
to have come by sea from some mysterious part of the earth, where 
his parents rolled in gold ; and said to feed in the parlor on steaks 
and gravy, likewise to drink currant-wine. 

Frost, Miss. A school-girl. 

Mawls, Master. A school-boy, with manners susceptible of much 
improvement. 

Maxby, Master. A day-pupil, favored by the usher, who is sweet 
upon one of his sisters. 

Phil. A serving-man, with a sovereign contempt for learning. 

OUR VESTRY. 
(A satire on the proceedings of parliament.) 

Chib, Mr. (of Tucket's Terrace). A hale old gentleman of eighty- 
two, who is the father of the vestry. 

Banger, Captain (of Wilderness Walk). A vestry-man, and an 
opponent of Mr. Tiddypot, with whom he has a Pickwickian alter- 
cation. 

Dogginson, Mr. A vestry-man who is regarded as " a regular 
John Bull." 

Magg, Mr. (of Little Winkling Street). One of the " first orators " 
of " Our Vestry." 

Tiddypot, Mr. (of Gumtion House). A vestry-man. ^SeeBANGBR, 
Captain. 

Wigsby, Mr. (of Chumbledon Square). A vestry-man, who is a 
debater of great eminence. 



00me llncoUetteir l^itUB. 



THE STRANGE GENTLEMAN. 

This is a comic burletta, in two acts. It was first performed at the St. James's 
Theatre, on Thursday, the 29th of September, 1836; was well received; and ran 
until December, when it was withdrawn for " The Village Coquettes," a comic 
opera by the same author. The Strange Gentleman was acted by J. P. Harley; 
and Dickens himself, on one occasion, took a part. In 1837, the piece was pub- 
lished, under the pseudonym of " Boz," by Chapman and Hall, in a small octavo 
pamphlet of forty-six pages, illustrated with an etched frontispiece by "Phiz" 
(Hablot Knight Browne). 

The play is a dramatized version of the story of " The Great Winglebury Duel,'' 
in "The Sketches by Boz," with some few changes in the plot, and some altera- 
tions of the names of places and persons. Thus " Great "Winglebury" becomes a 
small anonymous town on the road to Gretna; the " Winglebury Arms " is turned 
into " The St. James's Arms; " " Stiffun's AcrS^" (the scene of the proposed duel) 
is renamed " Corpse Common;" instead of Mr. Horace Hunter and Mrs. Wil- 
liamson, we have Mr. Horatio Tinkles and Mrs. Noakes; Miss Julia Manners 
turns her surname into Dobbs ; and Mr. Joseph Overton, his Christian name into 
Owen ; while Mr. Alexander Trott figures as the Strange Gentleman, and is at 
last discovered to be Mr. Walker Trott. — See pages 13, 14. 



CHABAGTER8 INTRODUGED. 

Brown, Miss Emily. A young lady beloved by both Mr. Trott 
(the Strange Gentleman) and Mr. Tinkles, but married to the lat- 
ter. 

Dobbs, Miss Julia. A wealthy woman, formerly engaged to be 
married to a Mr. WooUey, who died, leaving her his property, free 

535 



536 SClJe 23icfeens Bictionaus. 

from all incumbrances; the incumbrance of himself as a husband 
not being among the least. Being desperately in want of a young 
husband, she falls in love with a certain wild and not very strong- 
minded nobleman, Lord Peter, who engages to run away with 
her to Gretna, and be married. He fails to keep the appoint- 
ment, however ; and she gives her hand to Mr. Trott (the Strange 
Gentleman) instead. 

John. A waiter at the St. James's Arms. 

Johnson, John. A hare-brained mad-cap enamoured of Miss 
Mary Wilson, with whom he starts for Gretna Green, but is tem- 
porarily detained at the St. James's Arms by his thoughtless 
liberality to the post-boys, which leaves him absolutely penniless. 
A timely loan, however, enables him to continue his journey. 

Noakes, Mrs. Landlady of the St. James's Arms. 

Overton, Mr. Owen. An attorney, who is mayor of the small 
town in which is the St. James's Arms. 

Peter, Lord. A sprig of nobility, very wild, but not very sagacious 
or strong-minded, who is in love with Miss Julia Dobbs — or her 
handsome fortune. 

Sparks, Tom. " Boots " at the St. James's Arms. 

Strange Gentleman, The. See Trott, Mr. Walker. 

Tomkins, Charles. A young gentleman in love with Miss Fanny 
Wilson. He has arranged to run away with her to Gretna Green, 
and meets her for this purpose at the St. James's Arms. As he 
has agreed not to disclose his name, she imagines that the Strange 
Gentleman, staying at that house, and rumored to be insane, but 
whom she has not seen, is her lover. When she meets Mr. Tom- 
kins, therefore, she acts upon the presumption that he is actually 
out of his head ; and her conduct seems to him so strange, that he 
suspects her of playing him false, and works himself up into a tem- 
pest of jealousy, which only serves to confirm her belief in his 
lunacy. They are both, however, disabused at last, and set off, 
without delay, for their original destination. 

Trott, Mr. Walker, called The Strange Gentleman. A 
young man desirous of marrying Miss Emily Brown, but deterred 
by the hostile attitude of Mr. Horatio Tinkles, who challeno-es him 
to mortal combat (on Corpse Common) for daring to think of such 
a thing. He accepts the challenge in a bloodthirsty note, but im- 
mediately sends another, and an anonymous one, to the mayor 
urging that a Strange Gentleman at the St. James's Arms, be forth* 



Some sancoUecteH 33fece». 537 

with arrested, as he is bent upon committing a rash and sanguinary 
act. By a ludicrous blunder, he is mistaken for Lord Peter, who 
is expected at the same house for the purpose of meeting Miss 
Julia Dobbs, his intended ; and who is to be seized and carried off as 
an insane person, in order that his relatives may not discover him. 
As he is being forced into the carriage, however, the lady dis- 
covers that he is unknown to her ; and she refuses to accompany 
him. At the same moment, a letter from his rival is put into his 
hands, saying that the challenge was a ruse, and that the writer 
is far on his way to Gretna to be married to Miss Emily Brown. 
Determined not to be thus balked of a wife, Mr. Trott offers him- 
self to Miss Dobbs on the spot, is accepted, and starts instanter for 
the same place in a post-chaise and four. 

Wilson, Fanny. A young lady affianced to Mr. Charles Tomkins. 

Wilson, Mary. The innamorata of Mr. John Johnson. 

THE VILLAGE COQUETTES. 

This "comic opera in two acts," for which Mr. John HuUah composed the 
music, was written in 1835, and was brought out at the St. James's Theatre, in 
London, on Tuesday evening, December 6, 1836, *' The quaint humor, unaffected 
pathos, and graceful lyrics of this production, found prompt recognition ; and the 
piece enjoyed a prosperous run." The libretto of the opera was publislied by 
Bentley, in 1836, in a pamphlet of seventy-one pages, the dedication, to James Pritt 
Harley, being dated December 15. The scene is laid in an English village, and 
the time is supposed to be the autumn of 1729. 

Benson, Lucy. A beautiful village-girl betrothed to George Ed- 
munds, a humble but worthy man. Squire Norton, a man much her 
superior in social station, tries to lead her astray, and for a time 
she coquettes with him ; but before it is too late, she sees her error, 
rejects the elopement he urges, and returns to her discarded lover. 

Benson, Old. Her father ; a small farmer. 

Benson, Young. His son ; Lucy's brother. 

Edmunds, George. A young man in love with Lucy Benson. 

Flam, The Honorable Sparkins. Friend to Squire Norton ; 
fascinated by Rose, a village beauty, whom he ineffectually endeav- 
ors to lead from the path of virtue ; though she is at first flattered 
by his attentions. 

Maddox, John. A young man attached to Rose. 

Norton, Squire. A country-gentleman, who attempts, but un- 
successfully, to seduce the fair Lucy BensoD. 



538 ^'^^ ©fcfeens Bfctfonars. 

Rose. Cousin to Lucy Benson ; a lovely village maiden, whom the 

Honorable Sparkins Flam vainly seeks to ruin. 
Stokes, Mr. Martin. A very small farmer with a very large 

circle of particular friends. 

IS SHE HIS WIFE? 

Or, Something Singulae. 

An inedited comic burletta, in one act, played at the St. James*8 Theatre, on 
Monday, March 6, 1837. The part of the principal character, Mr. Felix Tapklns, 
was taken by James Pritt Harley. 

John. Servant to Mr. Lovetown. 

Limbury, Mr. Peter. A friend of Mr. Felix Tapkins's ; made 
furiously jealous by the attentions his wife receives from Mr. Love- 
town. 

Limbury, Mrs. A vain, conceited woman, who carries on a flirta- 
tion with Mr. Lovetown, for the double purpose of assisting him in 
curing his wife of her self-tormenting suspicions, and of teaching 
her husband the misery of the jealous fears he has been accustomed 
to harbor. 

Lovetown, Mr. Alfred. A newly-married man, perpetually 
yawning, and complaining of ennui. His wife, chagrined by his 
seeming indifference, determines to remove it, if she can, by wound- 
ing his vanity, and arousing his jealousy. She accordingly carries 
on a flirtation with a gaj' young bachelor (Mr. Tapkins), which 
perfectly effects her object. Lovetown, stung to the quick, affects 
a passion for Mrs. Limbury, which he does not feel, and to which 
she never really responds, with the double motive of obtaining 
opportunities of watching his wife, and of awaking any dormant 
feelings of affection for himself that may be slumbering in her 
bosom. In the carrying-on of these intrigues, many amusing mis- 
understandings occur ; but in the end mutual explanations remove 
all suspicions, and re-establish the confidence and affection whi(^h 
have temporarily been driven away. 

Lovetown, Mrs. His wife. 

Tapkins, Mr. Felix. A gay, good-hearted bachelor, who has a 
sufficient share of vanity, and who plumes himself on his gallantry. 
He resides at Rustic Lodge (near Reading), a remarkable cottage, 
with cardboard chimneys, Grecian balconies, Gothic parapets, and 
a thatched roof Such a model of compactness is this house, that 



Some sancoUectetJ ^feces. 



539 



even the horse can't cough without his owner's hearing him ; the 
stable being close to the dining-room windows. See Lovetown, 
Mr. Alfred. 
PUBLIC LIFE OF MR. TULRUMBLE (once Mayor of Mudfog). 
[From " Bentley's Miscellany," January, 1837.] 

Jennings, Mr. A gentleman with a pale face and light whiskers, 

whom Mr. Tulrumble imports from London to act as his secretary. 

Sniggs, Mr. Predecessor of Mr. Tulrumble in the mayoralty of 

Mudfog. 
Tulrumble, Mrs. Wife of Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble ; a vulgar, 

io-norant woman. 
TiiSrumble, Mr. Nicholas. A coal-dealer, who begins life in a 
wooden tenement of four feet square, with a capital of two and 
ninepence, and a stock in trade of three bushels and a half of coals. 
Beincr industrious and saving, he gradually gets rich, marries, builds 
Mudfocr Hall (on something which he endeavors to delude hunself 
into thinking a hill), retires from business altogether, grows vain 
and haughty, sets up for a public character and a great gentleman, 
and finally becomes mayor of Mudfog. 

Mudfog is a pleasant town . . . situated in a charming hollow by the side of 
a river, from which [it] derives an agreeable scent of pitch, tar, coals, and 
rope-yarn, a roving population in oil-skin hats, a pretty steady influx of drunken 
bargemen, and a great many other maritime adv.antages. there is a good 
deal of water about Mudfog; and yet it is not exactly the sort of town for a 
watering-place either. . . . In winter, it comes oozing down the streets, and 
tumbling over the fields ; nay, rushes into the very cellars and kitchens of the 
houses with a lavish prodigality that might well be dispensed with. But m 
the hot summer weather it will dry up and turn green; and although green is 
a very good color in its way, especially in grass, still it certainly is not becom- 
ing to water; and it cannot be denied that the beauty of Mudfog is rather im- 
paired even by this trifling circumstance. 

Having, when in London, been present at the lord-mayor's 
show, Mr° Tulrumble determines to have one of his own in Mud- 
fog, which shall equal if not surpass it. He makes arrangements, 
therefore, for a grand procession and dinner ; but the day of his 
inauguration is dim and dismal, the crowd is unreasonable and 
derisive, the show is a failure, the dinner is flat, and Nicholas is 
deeply disappointed. Getting statistical and philosophical, he 
exerts himself to prevent the granting of a new license to an old 
and popular inn, called "The Jolly Boatmen," and commences a 



540 ^De isrcitens HBfctfonav^. 

general crusade against beer-jugs and fiddles, forgetting the time 
when he was glad to drink out of the one, and to dance to the other. 
He soon finds, however, that the people have come to hate him, 
and that his old friends shun him ; he begins to grow tired of lain 
new dignity and his lonely magnificence ; and at last he dismisses 
his secretary, goes down to his old haunt, " The Lighterman's 
Arms,** tells his quondam companions that he is very sorry for hav- 
ing made a fool of himself, and hopes they will give him up his 
old chair in the chimney-corner again, which they do with great 

joy- 

Tulrumble, Nicholas, junior. Then* son. When his father 
becomes rich, he takes to smoking cigars, and calling the footman a 
" feller." 

Twigger, Edward, called Bottle-nosed Ned. A merry-tem- 
pered, pleasant-faced, good-for-nothing sort of vagabond, with an 
invincible dislike to manual labor, and an unconquerable attach- 
ment to strong beer and spirits. He is engaged to take part in the 
procession in honor of the election of Mr. Tulrumble as mayor of 
Mudfog, and is to make his appearance in a complete suit of an- 
cient brass armor of gigantic dimensions. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, he gets drunk, makes a most extraordinary exhibition of 
himself, as well as a laughing-stock of the mayor, and has to be 
conducted home, where his wife, unable to get the armor oflf, tum- 
bles him into bed, helmet, gauntlets, breastplate, and all. 

Twigger, Mrs. . His wife. 

THE PANTOMIME OF LIFE. 
[Published in " Bentley's Miscellany " March, 1837.] 

Do 'em. A confederate of Captain Fitz- Whisker Fiercy, acting as 
his livery-servant. 

Fiercy, The Honorable Captain Fitz-Whisker. A swin- 
dler, who struts about with that compound air of conscious superi- 
ority and general blood-thirstiness, which is characteristic of most 
military men, and which always excites the admiration and terror 
of mere plebeians. He dupes all the tradesmen in his neighbor- 
hood, by giving them orders for aU sorts of articles, which he after- 
wards disposes of to other dealers by means of his confederate, 
Do 'em. 



Some SSncoUecteti l^feces. 541 



THE LAMPLIGHTER'S STORY. 

Mr. John MACRONE, the publisher of the " Sketches by Boz," died In 1841, 
leaving his wife and children in straitened circumstances. For their benefit, Mr. 
Dickens undertook to procure and supervise the publication of a series of voluntary 
literary contributions. These vrere issued in three volumes, by Henry Colburn, 
under the following title: "The Pic-Nic Papers. By various hands. Edited by 
Charles Dickens." The work was illustrated by George Cruikshank and " Phiz.'- 
It served the purpose for which it was intended, and brought Mrs. Macro ne the sum 
of three hundred pounds. Mr. Dickens wrote the Preface, and furnished the open- 
ing tale, called " The Lamplighter's Story," which is a narrative version of a farce 
that he wrote in 1838 or 1839 for the manager of the Covent-Garden Theatre. 

Barker, Miss Fanny. Niece to an old astrologer, who takes Tom 
Grig to be pointed out by the stars as her destined husband. He 
describes her as having " a graceful carriage, an exquisite shape, 
a sweet voice, a countenance beaming with animation and expres- 
sion, and the eye of a startled fawn." She has also, he says, five 
thousand pounds in cash ; and this attraction, added to the others, 
inclines Tom to marry her ; but, when he finds that her uncle has 
borrowed and spent the whole sum in an unsuccessful search for 
the philosopher's stone, he alters his mind, and declares that the 
scheme is " no go," at which the uncle is enraged, and the niece is 
delighted ; she being in love with another young man. 

Emma. Daughter of a crazy astrologer who has spent fifteen years 
in conducting fruitless experiments having for their object the dis- 
covery of the philosopher's stone. Her father designs marrying 
her to his partner, " the gifted Mooney ; " but he utterly refuses to 
take her, alleging that his " contemplation of woman-kind " has led 
him to resolve that he " will not adventure on the troubled sea 
of matrimony." 

Galileo Isaac Newton Flamstead. The Christian names 
of the son of the crazy astrologer who takes Tom Grig to be '' the 
favorite of the planets." He is a tall, thin, dismal-faced young 
gentleman, in his twenty-first year ; though his father, absorbed in 
chimerical projects, considers him *' a mere child,*' and has n't pro- 
vided him with a new suit of clothes since he was fourteen. 

Grig, Tom. A lamplighter, who, on going his rounds one day, is 
accosted by one of the strangest and most mysterious-looking old gen- 
tlemen ever seen. This person proves to be a very learned astrolo- 
ger, who is on the point of discovering the philosopher's stone, which 
46 



542 Sl)c ©icfeens lafctfonar^. 

will turn every thing into gold. He imagines that he has found in 
Tom a noble stranger, whose birth is shrouded in uncertainty, and 
who is destined by the stars to be the husband of his young and lovely 
niece. He therefore takes him into his house forthwith, and intro- 
duces him to the lady. She is greatly disturbed, and suggests that 
the stars must have made a mistake ; but is silenced by her uncle. 
After this, Tom accompanies the old gentleman to the observatory, 
where Mr. Mooney — another scientific gentleman — casts his nativ- 
ity, and horrifies him by predicting his death at exactly thirty-five 
minutes, twenty-seven seconds, and five-sixths of a second, past 
nine o'clock, a.m., on that day two months. Tom makes up his mind, 
that, while alive, he had better be rich than poor, and so assents to 
the proposed marriage. The preliminaries are nearly concluded, 
when suddenly the crucible containing the ingredients of the miracu- 
lous stone explodes with a tremendous crash, and the labors of fifteen 
years are destroyed in an instant. Moreover, a mistake is discov- 
ered in the old gentleman's computation ; and it turns out that Tom 
is to live to a green old age, — eighty-seven, at least. Upon this, 
not caring for a portionless bride who does n't love him, he utterly 
refuses to marry the lovely niece, whereupon her uncle, in a rage, 
wets his forefinger in some of the liquor from the crucible that was 
spilt on the floor, and draws a small triangle upon the forehead 
of the young lamplighter, who instantly finds himself in the watch- 
house., with the room swimming before his eyes. 
Mooney, Mr., called The Gifted. A learned philosopher, with 
the dirtiest face we can possibly know of in this imperfect state 
of existence. He is so very absent-minded, that he always has to 
be brought to by means of an electric shock from a strongly-charged 
battery. 



^bben&a. 



Page 20. — " As this letter is to be historical, I may as well claim what little 
belongs to me in the matter; and that is the figure of Pickwick. Seymour's first 
sketch was of a long, thin man : the present immortal one he made from my 
description of a friend of mine at Richmond, — a fat old beau, who would wear, in 
spite of the ladies' protests, drab tights and black gaiters. His name was John 
Foster." — Extract from a letter of Mr. Edward Chapman {of the firm of Chap- 
man and Hall) to Mr. Dickens, as quoted in Forster's Life of Dickens, vol. i, 
eh. 5 (Philadelphia edition). 

Page 90. — In the New- York Round Table for November 11, 1865, Dr. B. Shel- 
ton Mackenzie published a statement, that the plan and the main characters of 
Oliver Tuoist originated with Cruikshank the artist, who, previously to the writing 
of that novel, had made a series of drawings, containing portraits of Fagin, Bill 
Sikes, the Artful Dodger, &c. ; the intention being, to show, in this way, the life of 
a London thief without a single line of letter-press. He further stated, — on the 
authority of Mr. Cruikshank, — that Dickens, on seeing these drawings, changed 
the whole plot of a story he had in contemplation, and obtained permission to 
" write up to as many of the designs as he thought would suit his purpose." Mr. 
Forster, in his Life of Dickens, styles this a " wonderful story," and says that it 
calumniates the distinguished artist on whom it is fathered, and that it is only to 
be fitly characterized by an unpolite word of three letters. Mr. Cruikshank. how- 
ever, in a letter to the London Times, under the date of December 21, 1871, 
defends Mr. Mackenzie from '* such a gross imputation," acknowledges that he 
did tell that gentleman that he was " the originator of the story of Oliver Twist,'''' 
and proceeds to substantiate his claims to the honor. 

Page 166. — The Garlands in Tlie Old Curiosity Shop are portraits of a family 
with whom Dickens, when a boy, had lodgings during a portion of the time that 
his father was confined in the Marshalsea Prison. Mr. Garland was an insolvent^ 
court agent, who lived in Lant Street, in the Borough: "he was a fat, good- 
natured, kind old gentleman. He was lame, and had a quiet old wife; and he had 
a very innocent grown-up son, who was lame too." — See Fokster's Life of Dick- 
ens, vol. i, pp. 59, 60. 

Page 172. — In the same novel, the character of the Marchioness is also drawn 
from life. She represents an orphan-girl, from the Chatham Workhouse, who 
waited on Mr. John Dickens and his family in the Marshalsea, and who was 
remarkable for her sharp little worldly yet kindly ways. — See Forster's lAfe of 
Dickens, vol. i, p. 59. 

543 



544 STfje Bicltens ©ictfonars. 

Page 266. — " Captain Cuttle was one David Mainland, master of a merchant- 
man, who was introduced to Dickens on the day when, with Thomas Chapman, 
Daniel Maclise, John Leech, Thomas Powell, and Samuel Rogers, he went to see 
Crosby Hall, Bishopgate Street, the restoration of which had then (1842) been com- 
pleted with great taste and skill. This is all that remains of the dwelling of Richard 
III, repeatedly mentioned by Shakspeare. . . . The party, my exact informant tells 
me, proceeded from Crosby Hall to the adjacent London Tavern, where, at the 
proper charge of Mr. Thomas Chapman, Bathe and Breach supplied a lunch. Of 
the six who constituted that social party, only one [Mr. Powell] survives. On 
that day, however, Dickens ' booked ' Captain Cuttle ; though he did not appear in 
Dombey and Son until five years later." — Mackenzie, Life of Dickens, p. 202. 

Page 271. —"Mr. Dombey is supposed to represent Mr. Thomas Chapman, 
ship-owner, whose oflSces were opposite the "Wooden Midshipman. I had the 
honor of meeting Mr. Chapman, at dinner (at Lough's the sculptor); and the 
rigidity of his manner was only equalled by that of his form; he sat or stood, as 
the case might be, bolt upright, as if he knew not how to bend, — as stiff, in fact, as 
If he had swallowed the drawing-room poker in his youth, and had never digested 
it. As if to make Mr. Chapman undoubtedly identical with Dombey, we have, 
as messenger of the commercial house of Dombey & Son, one Perch, actually 
taken from a funny little old chap, named Stephen Hale, who was part clerk, part 
messenger, in Mr. Chapman's office." — Mackenzie, Life of Dickens, pp. 201, 202. 

Page 272. — " Old Sol Gills was intended for a little fellow named Norie, who kept 
a very small shop in Leadenhall Street, exactly opposite the office of John Chap- 
man & Co., in which ' the stock in trade comprised chronometers, barometers, tele- 
scopes, compasses, charts, maps, sextants, quadrants, and specimens of every kind 
of instruments used in the working of a ship's course, or the keeping of a ship's 
reckoning, or the prosecuting of a ship's discoveries.' In front of this small shop 
stands a figure, carved in wood, and curiously painted, of a miniature midshipman, 
with a huge quadrant in his hand, as if about taking an observation. What is 
more, the little shop and the Wooden Midshipman may be seen, by the curious, 
adorning Leadenhall Street, to this day. I speak of the Wooden Midshipman as 
I saw him in 1852. He may have been swept away by what is called ' improve- 
ment.' " — Mackenzie, Life of Dickens, p. 202. 

Page 318. — Dora Spenlow had an original in the person of a young lady with 
whom Dickens fell in love in his youthful days, while practising as a law-reporter. 
" He, too," says Forster (Life of Dickens, vol. i, p. 3), " had his Dora at apparently 
the same hopeless elevation, striven for as the only thing to be attained, and even 
more unattainable, for neither did he succeed, nor, happily, did she die; but the 
one idol, like the other, supplying a motive to exertion for the time, and otherwise 
opening out to the idolater, both in fact and fiction, a highly unsubstantial, happy, 
foolish time. I used to laugh, and tell him I had no belief in any but the book 
Dora, until the incident of a sudden re-appearance of the real one in his life, nearly 
uix years after CopperJield-wa.s written, convinced me there had been a more actual 
foundation for those chapters of his book than I was ready to suppose." Of the 
lady referred to, Mr. Dickens himself told Mr. Forster, " Without, for a moment, 
sincerely believing that it would have been better if we had never got separated, I 
cannot see the occasion of so much emotion as I should see any one else. No one 
can imagine, in the most distant degree, what pain the recollection gave me in 
Copper/ield; and, just as I can never open that book as I open any other book, I 



StUtrenTia. 545 

cannot see the face (even at four and forty), or hear the voice, without going 
wandering away over the ashes of all that youth and hope in the wildest man- 
ner." In Little Dorrit, however, he afterwards drew, from the same original, the 
very diflferent portrait of Flora Finching. 

Page 324. —According to Dr. R. S. Mackenzie {lAfe of Dickens, p. 203), Traddles, 
David Copperfield's schoolmate and friend, is supposed to have been intended for 
the late Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd, one of Mr. Dickens's oldest and most intimate 
friends. 

Page 411. — This name is everywhere Incorrectly written by Mr. Dickens St. 
Evrdmonde or Evr^monde. The proper orthography is ]&vremonde, whivh repre- 
sents a decidedly different pronunciation. 



% €lo00c& Cist of €l)aratt£r0, (Bit. 



Note. — The following list embraces only a portion of the names contained In 
Dickens's novels and shorter tales. Not a few names are omitted, as being quite 
unclassifiable ; others, as belonging to persons, places, or things altogether insignifi- 
cant; others again, because, if brought together at all, they could only be so under 
headings of very little interest or importance. Incomplete — designedly incomplete 
— as the list is, however, it is thought that the groupings it presents will be found 
to be both curious, and useful for reference. 

The tales in which the names occur may easily be ascertained by means of the 
General Index on page 557. 

Actors. — Master Crummies ; Master Percy Crummies ; Vincent Crummies ; Mr. 
Folair; JemHutley; Alfred Jingle ; John; JemLarkins; Thomas Lenville ; Mr. 
Loggins; Nicholas Nickleby ; Mr. Pip; P. Salcy Family; Smike; Mr. Snevellicci; 
Mr. Suittle Timberry ; Mr. Wopsle. 

Actresses. — Miss Belvawney ; Miss Bravassa; the Compact Enchantress ; Ninetta 
Crummies; MissGazingi; Mrs. Grudden; Miss Ledrook; Mrs. Lenville; Henri- 
etta Petowker ; Miss Snevellicci. 

Actuary. — Mr. Meltham. 

Adventurers. — Mr. Jinklns ; Alfred Lammle. 

Aeronauts. — Mr. Green; Mr. Green, junior. 

Alderman. — Mr. Cute. 

Amanuensis. — Caddy Jellyby. 

Americans. — Mr. Bevan ; Julius "Washington Merry weather Bib ; Jeflferson Br-^ifZ 
Mrs. Jefferson Brick; Oscar Buffum; Cyrus Choke; Hannibal ChoUt^; Mies 
Codger; Colonel Diver; Doctor Ginery Dunkle; General Fladdock; Ooloi.'a 
Groper; Mrs. Hominy; Mr. Izzard; Mr. Jodd; Captain Kedgick; La FSyetla 
Kettle; Mr. Norris and family ; Major Pa wkins ; Mrs. Pawkins; Professor Piper 
Elijah Pogram; Zephaniah Scadder; Putnam Smif; Miss Toppit. 

Apprentices. — Noah Claypole; Mark Gilbert; Hugh Graham; Sim Tappertit; 
Oliver Twist; Dick Wilkins. 

Arcliitects. — Martin Chuzzle wit; Seth Pecksniff; Tom Pinch; John Westlock. 

Articulator of bones, etc. — Mr. Venus. 

Astrologer. — Mr. Mooney. 

Auctioneer. — Thomas Sapeea. 

647 



548 S!)e IBfcltens IBfctfonarj. 



Anthors, etc. — Theodosius Butler ; Miss Codger ; David Copperfield ; Mr. Curdle ; 
Mrs. Hominy; Mrs, Leo Hunter; MissToppit; Professor MuUit. 

Babies. — Frederick Charles William Kitterbell; Sally Tetterby; Alexander Mac- 
Stinger. 

Baclielors. — George Chuzzlewit; Nicodemus Dumps, the Single Gentleman; 
John Jarndyce; Michael; Newman Noggs; Mr. Saunders; Felix Tapkins; 
Tackleton ; Mr. Topper ; Watklns Tottle. 

Bailiff. — Solomon Jacobs. 

Ballad-seller, etc. — Mr. "Wegg. 

Bankers. — Josjah Bounderby; Mr. Meagles; Mr. Merdle; Tellson and Co. 

Barbers. — Crofts; Jinklnson; Mr. Slithers; Poll Sweedlepipe. 

Bar-maids. — Becky; Miss Martin. 

Beadles. — Mr. Bumble; Mr. Bung; Mooney; Simmons; Sownds; Sowster. 

Begging-letter -vrriter. — Mr. Southcote. 

Bird-fancier. — Poll Sweedlepipe. 

Blind persons. — Bertha Plummer; Mr. Sampson Dibble ; Stagg. 

Boarding-housekeepers. — Mrs. Pawkitis; Mrs. Tibbs; Mrs. Todgers. 

Boobies. — Bentley Drummle; Edmund Sparkler. 

Boots. — Bailey, junior; Cobbs; Tom Sparks; Sam Weller. 

Bore. — Mr. Barlow. 

Brokers. — Mr. Brogley; Clariker; Fixem; Wilkins Flasher; Fascination Fledge- 
by; Mr. Gattleton ; Frank Simraery ; Grandfather Smallweed ; Tom Tix. 

Burglars. — See Housebreakers. 

Butlers. — David; Giles; Nicholas. 

Carpenters. — Thomas Joy; Samuel Wilkins. 

Carriers. — Mr. Barkis ; John Peerybingle. 

Chambermaid. — Mrs. Pratchett. 

Chandler. — Tom Cobb. 

Charity-boys. — Noah Claypole ; Robin Toodle. 

Charwomen. — Mrs. Bangham; Mrs. Blockson. 

Cheap-jacks. — Doctor Marigold; Willum Marigold. 

Chemists. — Thomas Groffin; Mr. Redlaw. 

Church. — Little Bethel. 

Circus performers, etc. — E. W. B. Childers; Emma Gordon; Signer Jupe; 
Master Kidderminster; Josephine Sleary; Mr. Sleary; Miss Woolford. 

Clergymen, etc. — Mr. Chadband; Horace Crewler; Septimus Crisparkle; Alfred 
Feeder; Brother Gimblet; Verity Hawkyard; Melchi,sedech Howler; Mr. Lona 
Ears; Frank Milvey; George Silverman ; Mr. Sliverstone ; Mr. Stiggins; Char!(vsi 
Timson. 

Clerks, etc. — Mr. Adams ; Clarence Barnacle ; Mr. Bazzard ; Bitzcr ; Young Blight ; 
Alexander Briggs; James Carker; John Carker; Frank Cheeryble; Mr. Chuck- 
8ter;Chuffey; Mr. Clark; Bob Cratchit; Mr. Dobble; Walter Gay; Tom Grad- 
grind; William Guppy; Uriah Heep; Mr. Jones; Mr. Jackson ; Mr. Jinks; Tim 
Linkinwater; Jarvis Lorry; Mr. Lowten; Mr. Mallard; Wilkins Micawber; 
Augustus Mitins; Mr. Morfin; Nicholas Nickleby; Newman Noggs; Nathaniel 
Pipkin; Thomas Potter; Bartholomew Smallweed; Putnam Smif ; Mr. Smith; 
Robert Smithers ; Horatio Sparkins ; John Spatter; Dick Swiveller; Mr. Tiffey; 
Tom; Alfred Tomkins; Mr. Tupple; John Wemmick; Mr. Wicks; Reginald 
Wilfcr ; Mr. Wisbottle. — See also Parish Clerks. 

Clieuts. — Mr. Watty; Michael Warden; Amelia; Mike. 



©lasseH Hist ot €:!)atactets. 549 

Coachmen, etc. - William Barker; George; Joe; Martin; Sam; WilU im Sim 

mons; Tipp; Tom; Tony Weller; William. 
Coal-dealer. — K'icholas Tulrumble. 

Collectors. — Mr. Buffle; Mr. Lillyvick; Mr. Pancks; Mr. Rugg. 
Compamon8.-Mrs. General; Mary Graham; Kate Nickleby. 
Constables. -Black; Darby; Green; Daniel Grummer; Rogers; White; Wil 

ConXts.- Alice Brown; Compeyson; John Edmunds; Kags; Abel Magwitch. 
Corn-chandlers. -Octavius Budden; Wilkins Micawber; Uncle Pumblechook. 

Coroner. — Mr. Wackley . 

Corporations, etc. - Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Com- 
pany ; Circumlocution Office ; Eden Land Corporation ; Human Interest Brothers ; 
Inestimable Life Assurance Company; United Grand Junction Lirriper and Jack- 
man Great Norfolk Parlor Line ; United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and 
Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery Company. - See Societies. 

Costumer. — Solomon Lucas. a.„„i„. 

Cricketers. -Mr. Dumkins; Luffey; Peter Magnus; Mr. Podder; Mr. Staple, 

Mr. Struggles. „ ttt 

Cripples. -Phoebe; Tiny Tim; Fanny Cleaver; Gruff and Glum; Mr. Wegg. 

Dancing-masters. -Mr. Baps; Signor Billsmethl; Prince Turveydrop. 
Deaf-mute. — Sophy Marigold. . „ ^ ,, t 

Detectives. - Mr. Inspector Bucket; Sergeant Dornton; Sergeant Fendall; In- 
spector Field; Sergeant Mlth ; Mr. Nadgett; Rogers; Inspector Stalker; Sergeant 
Straw; Mr. Tatt; Inspector Wield; Wltchem. 

Distiller. — Mr. Langdale. 

Dogs. -Boxer; Bull's-eye: Diogenes; Jip; Merrylegs; Poodles. 

Dressmakers. -Fanny Cleaver (dolls' dressmaker;; Miss Knag; Madame Manta- 

lini; Amelia Martin ; Kate Nickleby ; Miss Simmond. 
Drivers. — See Coachmen, etc. 

Drunkards. -Mrs. Blackpool; Mr. Dolls; John; Krook; Warden. 
Drysalters.- Brother Gimblet; Verity Hawkyard. 
Dustman. — Nicodemus Boffin. 
Dwarfs.- Quilp; Miss Mowcher, 

Editors, etc. —Jefferson Brick; Colonel Diver; Mr. Pott; Mr. Slurk. 
Emigrants.- Susannah Cleverly; William Cleverly; Dorothy Dibble; Sampflon 

Dibble; Jessie Jobson ; Wiltshire; Anastasia Weedle. 
Engine-driver. — Mr. Toodle. 
Engineers.- Daniel Doyce; Edwin Drood. 

Fairies.— Grandmarin a; Tape. , a. w 

Farmers. -Old Benson; JohnBrowdie; Godfrey Nickleby ; Martin Stokes. 
Fishermen. - Ham Peggotty; Daniel Peggotty. m^^v,,. 

Footmen. -Mercury; Muzzle; John Smauker; Thomas Towllnson, Tackle, 

Whiffers. 
Fops. - Fascination Fledgeby ; Mr. Mantalini ; Mr. Toots. 
Forcers.- Mr. Fikey; Mr. Merdle. 
Frenchmen.-Bebelle; Blandois (or Rigaud) ; Madame Bouclet; the Compact 

Enchantress; Charles Darnay (or Evr^monde) ; L"cieDarnay; Ernest Defarge; 

Th^rfese Defarge; Monsieur the Face-maker ; TheophUe Gabelle ; Gaspard Ma 

demoiselle Hortense; Jacques (One, Two, Three, Four. Five); Lagnier ^or 



550 STije ©fcfeens ©fctfonacj. 

Rigaud); M. Loyal Derasseur; Alexander Manette; Lucie Manette; Monsieui 
Mutual; St. Evr6monde; P. Salcy Family ; Corporal Th^ophile ; the Vengeance ; 
Monsieur the Ventriloquist. 

Gamblers. —Joe Jowl; Isaac List; Miss Betsey Trotwood's Husband; Little 
Nell's Grandfather. 

Gamekeeper. — Martin . 

Gardeners. — Mr. Cheggs ; Hunt; "Wilkins. 

Gentlemen. — Mr. Tite Barnacle; Sir Joseph Bowley; Mr. Brownlow; Sir John 
Chester; Sir Thomas Clubber; Hon. Mr. Crush ton ; Sir Leicester Dedlock ; The 
Hon. Sparkins Flam ; Mr. Alexander Qrazinglands ; Mr. Grimwig ; Geoffrey Hare- 
dale; Sir Mulberry Hawk; Master Humphrey; Sir William Joltered ; Hon. Mr. 
Long Ears; Nicholas Nickleby; Squire Norton; Samuel Pickwick; Mr. John 
Podsnap; Sir Matthew Pupker; Jack Redburn; Sir Barnet Skettles; the Hon. 
"WilmotSnipe; SirHookhamSnivey; the Hon. Mr. Snob; the Hon. Bob Stables; 
Mr. Melvin Twemlow; Mr. "Wardle. 

Germans. — Baron and Baroness von Koeldwethout ; Straudenheim ; Baron and 
Baroness von Swillenhausen. 

Giants. — Gog; Magog; Pickleson. 

Governesses.— Mrs. General; Miss Lane; Ruth Pinch, 

Green-grocers. — Harris ; Tommy; Richard Up witch. 

Grocers. — Jacob Barton; Mr, Blocker; Joseph Tugga. 

Groom. — Thomas. 

Guards.- George; Joe. 

Haberdashers. — Mr. Omer; Mr. Phibba. 

Hangman. — Ned Dennis. 

Hop-gro-wer. — Mr. Chestle. 

Horse-jockey. — Captain Maroon. 

Hostlers. — Hugh ; Mark Tapley. 

Housebreakers. — Toby Crackit ; Bill Sikes. 

Housekeepers. — Mrs. Bedwin; Miss Benton; Molly; Mrs. Pipchin; Miss Pross; 
Mrs. Rouncewell; Peg Sliderskew; Mrs. Sparsit; Esther Sammerson; Mrs. 
Tickit; Agnes Wickfleld. 

Hypocrites, — Charity Pecksniff ; Mercy Pecksniff ; Seth Pecksniff ; Julius Slink- 
ton. 

Impostor, — Blackey. 

Invalids, — Bill Barley; Mrs. Clennam; Mrs. Crewler; Mr. Qobler; Mrs. Grad- 

grind; Mrs. Skimpole; Mr. Tresham. 
Inventors. —Mr. Crinkles; Don Diego; Daniel Doyce; John; Professor Qu»«r 

speck; Mr. Tickle. 
Irisliman. — Frederick O'Bleary. 
Ironmaster. — Mr. Rouncewell. 
Italians, — Giovanni Carlavero ; John Baptist Cavalletto. 

Jailer, — Mr. Akerman. 

Jews. — Barney; Fagin; Aaron Mesheck; Mr. Riah. 

Judge. — Mr. Justice Stareleigh. 

Juggler, — African Kntfe-swallower ; Sweet William, 

Jurymen, — Thomas Groffin; Richard Up witch. 



ffilasseti 3l{»t of ©fjaractets. 551 



Laborers. — Baytou ; Will Fern; Joe; Wiltshire. 

Ladies. — Princess Alicia; Lady Bowley; Lady Clubber; Lady Dedlock; Mrs. 
Gowan; Baroness von Koeldwethout ; Mrs. Merdle; LadyFareway; Lady Scad- 
gers ; Lady Skettles ; the Hon. Mrs. Skewton ; Lady Snuphanuph ; Lady Tippins ; 
Baroness von Swillenhausen. 

Latnpligliter. — Tom Q-rig. 

Landladies. — Mrs. Bardell; Mrs. Billickin; Madame Bouclet; Mrs. Craddock; 
Mrs.Crupp; Mrs. Lirriper; Mrs. Lupin; Mrs. MacStinger; Mrs. Noakes; Miss 
Abbey Potterson ; Mary Ann Raddle ; Mrs. Tibbs ; Mrs. Todgers ; Mrs. Whimple ; 
Mrs. Williamson; Miss Wozenham . 

Liandlords. — Bark ; The Black Lion ; James George Bogsby ; Christopher Casby ; 
M. Loyal Derasseur; James Groves; W. Grubble; Captain Kedgick; Mr. J. 
Mellows; Mr. Licensed Victualler; John Willet. 

Laundresses. — Mrs. Dilber; Mrs. Parkins; Mrs. Stubbs; Mrs. Sweeney. 

LaTV-stationers. — Mrs. Harris; Mr. Snagsby. 

Law-student. — Percy Noakes. 

Law-writers. — Captain Hawdon ; Tony Jobling. 

Lawyers. — Sally Brass; Sampson Brass; Samuel Briggs; Serjeant Buzfuz ; Syd- 
ney Carton; Clarkson; Thomas Craggs; Mr. Dodson; Mr. Fips; Mr. Fogg; 
Hiram Grewgious ; Uriah Heep; Mr. Jaggers; Mr. Jorkins; Conversation Kenge ; 
Mortimer Lightwood ; Percy Noakes ; Joseph Overton ; Owen Overton ; Solomon 
Pell; Mr. Perker; Mr. Phunkey; Mr. Rugg; Mr. Skimpin; Jonathan Snitchey; 
Serjeant Snubbin; Francis Spenlow; Henry Spiker; Mr. Stryver; Mr. Tangle; 
Thomas Traddles; Mr. Tulkinghorn; Mr. Vholes; Mr. Wickfield; Eugene 
Wrayburn. 

Literary Productions. — Considerations on the Policy of removing the Duty on 
Beeswax; Last Moments of the Learned Pig; Ode to an Expiring Frog; Specu- 
lations on the Sources of the Hampstead Ponds, with some Observations on the 
Theory of Tittlebats ; the Thorn of Anxiety. 

Locksmith. — Gabriel Varden. 

Lodging-house Keepers. — Bully Bark; Mrs. Billickin; Mr. Bulph; Mrs. Lir- 
riper; Miss Wozenham. 

Lords. — See Noblebien. 

Lunatics. — Mr. Dick (Richard Babley) ; The Gentleman in Small-clothes ; Miss 
Flite. 

Magistrates. — Alderman Cute ; Mr. Fang ; Mr. Nupkins. 

Manufacturer. — Josiah Bounderby. 

Matrons of Workhouses. — Mrs. Corney; Mrs. Mann. 

Mayors. — George Nupkins; Joseph {pr Owen) Overton; Mr. Sniggs; Mr, Tul- 

rumble. 
Medical Students. — Ben Allen; Alfred Heathfield ; Jack Hopkins; Bob Sawyer. 
Member of Congress. — Elijah Pogram. 
Members of Parliament. — William Buffey; Cornelius Brook Dingwall; Mr. 

Gregsbury; Sir Matthew Pupker; Sir Barnet Skettles; Honest Tom; Hamilton 

Veneering. — See also Nobl.emen. 
Merchants. — Barbox Brothers (Mr. Jackson); Cheeryble Brothers; Clarrihsr 

Arthur Clennam; Mr. Dombey; Mr. Fezziwig; Mr. Thomas Gradgrind; Mr. 

Murdstone; Mr. Miles Owen ; Herbert Pocket ; Mr. Quinion ; Scrooge. 
Messengers. — Jerry Cruncher; Jenkinson; Mr. Perch. 
Milliners. — Miss Knag; Madame Mantalini. 
Vlilitary Men.— Captain Adams; Matthew Bagnet; Major Bagstock; Captain 



552 2r!)e ©fckens UBUiloriAX^a, 



Bailey; Major Banks; Captain Boldwig; Colonel Bulder ; General Cyrua Choke; 

Major Hannibal Chollop; Colonel Chowser ; Captain Doubledick ; Captain Dow- 

ler; General Fladdock ; Tom Green; Colonel Groper; Gruff and Glura ; Captain 

Hawdon; Captain Helves; Captain Hopkins; Major Jemmy Jackrann ; Captain 

Kedgick; the Recruiting Sergeant; George Rouncewell; Lieutenant Slaughter; 

Wilmot Snipe; Lieutenant Tappleton; Captain Taunton; Corporal Th^ophile; 

Joe Willet. 
fililliners. — Miss Knag; Madame Mantalini; Amelia Martin. 
Misers, etc. — Uncle Chill; Christopher Casby ; Anthony Chuzzlewit ; Jonas Chuz- 

zlewit; Arthur Gride; Ralph Nickleby; Scrooge; Bartholomew Smallweed; 

Granilfather Smallweed. 
Mistresses, — Alice Brown; Little Em'ly; Mistress Alice ; Nan. 
Murderers. — Jonas Chuzzlewit; Gaspard; Bradley Headstone; Mademoiselle 

Hortense; Captain Murderer; Rigaud; Mr. Rudge; BillSikes; Julius Slinkton ; 

William "Warden. 
Musical Performers. — Antonio; Matthew Bagnet; Banjo Bones; Mrs. Banjo 

Bones; Mr. Brown; Mr. Cape; Frederick Dorrit; Mr. Evans; Mr. Harleigh; 

John Jasper; Mies Jenkins; Signer Lobskini; Miss A. Melvilleson; Master 

Wilkins Micawber; Lsetitia Parsons; Little Swills; Mr. Tippin; Mrs. Tippin; 

Miss Tippin; Mr. and Mrs. B. Wedgington. 

Nautical-instrument maker. — Solomon Gills. 

Newsmen, etc, — Adolphus Tetterby; 'Dolphus Tetterby. 

Newspapers. — Eatanswill Gazette; Eatanawill Independent; New-Tork Rowdy 

Journal. 
Noblemen, etc. — Lord Decimus Tite Barnacle ; Prince Bear; Lord Boodle ; Prince 

Bull ; Prince Certain Personio ; Cousin Feenix ; Baron von Koeldwethout ; Mon- 

eeigneur; Lord Mutanhed; Lord Peter; Marquis St. Evremonde ; Count Smorl- 

tork; Lord Snigs worth ; Lord Lancaster Stiltstalking; Baron von Swillenhausen ; 

Lord Frederick Verisopht ; King Watkins the First. 
Notaries. — Abel Garland; Mr. "Witherden. 
Nurses. — Mrs.Bangham; Mrs.Blockitt; Dawes; Sally Flanders ; Flopson; Salrey 

Gamp; Mercy; Millers; Betsey Prig; Mrs. Prodgit; Mrs. Thingummy; Mrs. 

Polly Toodle; Mrs. Wickham. 

Old Maids. — MissBarbary; Berinthia (or Berry) ; RosaDartle; Volumnia Ded- 
lock; Miss Havisham; Miss Lillerton; Miss Jane Murdstone; Miss Anastasia 
Rugg; Miss SkiflBns; Judy Smallweed; Miss Clarissa Spenlow; Miss Lavinia 
Spenlow ; Miss Lucretia Tox ; Miss Wade ; Rachael Wardle ; Miss Witherfield. 

Orators. — Mr. Edkins; Mr. Magg; Mr, Slackbridge. 

Orphans. — Johnny; Lilian. 

Pages. — Alphonse ; Withers. 

Painters. — Henry Gowan; Miss La Creevy. 

Parish-clerks. — Solomon Daisy ; Nathaniel Pipkin ; Mr. Wopsle. 

Paupers. — Anny; Little Dick; Mrs. Fibbetson; Martha; John Edward Nandy; 

Oakum Head; Chief Refractory; Refractory Number Two; Old Sally; Mrs. 

Thingummy; Oliver Twist. 
Pawnbrokers. — David Crimple ; Mr. Henry; Pleasant Riderhood. 
Pensioners. — Mr. Battens; Mrs. Quinch; Mrs. Saggers. 
Pew-opener. — Mrs. Miff. 
Philanthropists. — Bigwig Family; Luke Honey thunder; Mrs. Jellyby, Mr.oiid 

Mrs. Pardiggle; Mr. Quale; Miss Wisk. 



<a:la»»eti Slfst^of Characters. 553 



philosophers. — Doctor Jeddler ; Mr. Mooney . 

Physicians. — Eayham Badger ; Mr. Chillip ; Ginery Dunkle ; Doctor Grumraidge ; 
Doctor Haggage ; John Jobling; Doctor Kutankumagen ; Doctor Lumbey ; Alex* 
ander Manette ; Mr. Pilkins; Parker Peps; Doctor Soemup ; Joe Specks; Doctoi 
Toorell; Doctor Wosky. — See also Surgeons. 

Pirate. — Lieutenant-Colonel Robin Redforth. 

Pickpockets. — See Thieve s. 

Pilot. — Mr. Bulph. 

Places {various). — Ball's Pond; Borrioboola Gha; Chinks's Basin; Chumbledon 
Square; Cloisterham; Dingley Dell; DuUborough; Eatanswill; Eden; Great 
Winglebury; Grogzwig; Haven of Philanthropy; Mill Pond Bank, Chinks's 
Basin; Mugby Junction; Muggleton; Namelesston ; New Thermopylae; Old- 
castle; Old Hell Shaft; Old Mint; Pavilionstone ; Plash water Weir Mill; 
Pocket-Breaches; Pod's End; Poplar Walk; Port Middlebay; Princess's Place; 
Rats' Castle; Stagg's Garden ; Stiffun's Acre ; Tom-all-alone's ; Tucket's Terrace ; 
Verbosity; Wilderness Walk. 

Plasterer. — Thomas Plornish. 

Poets. — Mr. Slum; Augustus Snodgrass; Mrs. Leo Hunter. 

Policemen. — Sergeant Dornton ; Inspector Field; Mr. Inspector ; Sergeant Mith ; 
Parker; Peacoat ; Quickear; Sharpeye; Inspector Stalker; Trampfoot; Wil- 
liams ; Sergeant Witchem. 

Political parties. — Eatanswill Buft's; Eatanswill Blues. 

Politicians. — Lord Boodle; Horatio Fizkin ; Major Pa wkias; Mr. Rogers; Samuel 
Slumkey. 

Pony. — Whisker. 

Porters, etc. — BuUamy ; " Lamps ; " Tugby ; Toby Veck. 

Postmaters. — Tom Cobb; Monsieur Gabelle. 

Postmistress. — Mrs. Tomlinson. 

Pot-boy. — Bob Gliddery. 

Prisoners. — Mr. Ayresleigh; John Baptist Cavaletto; the Chancery Prisoner; 
William Dorrit; Charles Evr^monde ; Doctor Haggage ; George Heyling; Captain 
Hopkins; Horace Kinch; Mr. Martin; Wilkins Micawber; Mr. Mivins; Neddy; 
Mr. Price; Rigaud; Mr. Simpson; Smangle; Mr. Walker; Mr. Willis. 

Prostitutes. — Bella; Bet; Emily; Martha Endell ; Eliza Grimwood ; Nan; Nancy. 

Public Houses. — Black Boy and Stomach-ache; Black Lion; Blue Boar; Blue 
Dragon; Boot-jack and Countenance; the Bush; the Crozier; Dolphin's Head; 
Golden Cross; Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity; Great White Horse ; Holly 
Tree; Jolly Bargemen; Jolly Boatmen; Jolly Sandboys; Jolly Tapley; Light- 
erman's Anns ; Marquis of Granby; Maypole; National Hotel; Nutmeg-grater; 
Original Pig; the Peacock; Pegasus' Arms; Pig and Tinderbox; St. James's 
Arms ; Saracen's Head ; Setting Moon ; Six Jolly Fellowship Porters ; Slamjam 
Coffee-House; Sol's Arms; the Temeraire ; Three Cripples; Three Jolly Barge- 
men; Travellers' Twopenny; Valiant Soldier; White Hart; White Conduit 
House; White Horse Cellar ; Winglebury Arms. 

Pugilist. — The Game Chicken. 

Pupils. — Adams; Belling; Bitherstone ; Bitzer; Mrs. Black; Bobbo; Bolder; 
Briggs; Rosa Bud; Cobbey; David Copperfield; Cripples; George Demple; 
Dumbledon; Miss Edwards; Richard Evans ; AdelinaFareway; Miss Ferdinand; 
Miss Frost; Miss Giggles; Bully Globson ; Graymarsh; Harry; Charley Hexam ; 
Miss Jennings; Johnson; Helena Landless; Jemmy Jackman Lirriper; Mary 
Anne; Mawls; Maxby; Mobbs; John Owen ; Miss Pankey ; Miss Reynolds ; Miss 
Rickitts; MissShepard; BarnetSkettles, junior; Smike; Miss Smithers ; Sophia ; 
47 



554 2C!)e liicfeens iOfctfonars. 



Joe Specks J Steerforth; Bob Tartar; Tomkins; Toots; Tozer; Traddles; Gran 
ville Wharton; White. 

Ranger. — Phil Parkes. 

Kaven. — Grip. 

Receivers of Stolen Goods.— Bully Bark; Pagin; Joe; Mr. Lively. 

Reporter. —David Copperfield. 

Residences, etc. — Abel Cottage ; Amelia Cottage ; Blunderetone Rookery ; Bof- 
fin's Bower; Chesney Wold; the Den; the Elmses; Fizkin Lodge; the Growl- 
ery ; Gumtion House ; Harmony Jail ; Hoghton Towers ; Manor Farm ; Mudfog 
Hall; Norwood; Oak Lodge; Rose Villa; Rustic Lodge; Satis House; Stone 
Lodge; the Warren; Wooden Midshipman. 

Resurrectionist. — Jerry Cruncher. 

Rioters. — Ned Dennis ; Hugh; Barnaby Rudge ; Sim Tappertit. 

Robe-maker, — Mr. Jennings. 

Saddlers. — Old Lobbs ; Tipkisson. 

Schools. — Dotheboys Hall ; Minerva House ; Nuns' House; Salem House; West- 
gate House. 

Sciences. — Ditchwateristics ; Umbugology. 

Seamen, etc. — Old Bill Barley ; Captain Boldheart; William Boozey ; Mr. Bulph ; 
Captain Bunsby; Captain Cattle; Dando; Dark Jack; Mercantile Jack; Job 
Potterson ; Captain Purday ; Lieutenant Tartar. 

Secretaries. — Ferdinand Barnacle ; Mr. Fish; Mr. Gashford; John Harmon; Mr. 
Jennings ; La Fayette Kettle ; Jonas Mudge ; Mr. Wobbler. 

Servants. — I.Male. Benjamin Britain; Brittles; Deputy; John Derrick; Do'- 
em ; Jeremiah Flintwinch ; Old Glubb ; John Grueby ; James ; Joe (the Fat Boy) ; 
John; Littimer; the Native; Kit Nubbles; Peak; Pepper; Phil; Pruffle; Tom 
Scott; Sloppy; Smike; Phil Squod; William Swidger; Mark Tapley; Tinkler; 
Robin Toodle; Job Trotter; Tungay; Samuel Weller. — II. Female. Jane 
Adams; Agnes; Anne; Barbara; Becky; Berinthia; Betsey: Biddy; Charlotte; 
Clickitt ; Mary Daws; Emma; Aflfery Flintwinch; Flowers; Goodwin; Guster; 
Hannah; Mademoiselle Hortense ; Jane; Janet; Winifred Madgers ; the Marchio- 
ness; Martha; Mary; Mary Anne; Caroline Maxey ; 'Melia; MissMiggs; Clem- 
ency Newcome; Susan Nipper; Mary Anne Paragon; Clara Peggotty; Mary 
Anne Perkin sop; Phoebe; Priscilla; Mrs. Rachael; Sally Rairyganoo; Robinson; 
Rosa; Tilly Slowboy; Betsey Snap; Sophia; Willing Sophy; Tamaroo; Tat- 
ty coram. 

Sextons', etc. — Bill; Old David; Gabriel Grub. 

Sharpers. — See Swindlers. 

Sheriff's Officers. — Blathers ; DubbleyjDuff; Mr. Namby; Mr. Neckett; Mr. 
Scaley; Mr. Smouch; Tom. 

Shipwright. — Chips. 

Shoe-binder. — Jemima Evans. 

Shop. — Wooden Midshipman. 

Shopkeepers. — Giovanni Carlavero ; Mrs. Chickenstalker; Mrs.Chfvery; Augus- 
tus Cooper; Ernest Defarge ; Little Nell's Grandfather; Mrs. Plornish; Pleasant 
Riderhood ; Straudenheim ; Mrs. Tugby. 

Showmen, etc. — Tom Codlin; Mr. Grinder; Mr. Harris; Mrs. Jarley; Jerry; 
Mim; Vuffin. 

Shrews. — Mrs. Bumble; Mrs. Joe Gargery; Mrs. MacStinger; Mrs. Marigold; 
Miss Miggs; Mrs. Raddle; Sarah; Mrs. Snagsby; Mrs. Sowerberry; Fanny 
Squeers; Mrs. Squeers; Mrs. Varden. 



©lassetr Hfst of ©Jaracters. 555 



Smiths. — Richard ; JoeQargery; Dolge Orlick ; John. 

Societies. — All-Muggleton Cricket Club; Finches of the Grove; Convened Chief 
Composite Committee of Central and District Philanthropists ; Glorious Apollos ; 
Infant Bonds of Joy ; Ladies' Bible and Prayer-book Distribution Society; Mas- 
ter Humphrey's Clock ; Mr. Weller's "Watch ; Pickwick Club ; 'Prentice Knights ; 
Social Linen Box Committee; Superannuated Widows; United Aggregate 
Tribunal; United Bull-Dogs; United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance 
Association ; Watertoast Association of United Sympathizers. 

Spaniard. — Antonio. 

Spendthrift. — Edward Dorrit. 

Spies. — Roger Cly ; Solomon Pross. 

Sportsman. — Nathaniel Winkle. 

Statisticians. — Mr. Filer; Mr. Kwakley; Mr. X. Ledbrain; Mr. Slag. 

Stenographer. —David Copperfield. 

Steward. — Mr. Rudge ; Job Potterson. 

Stoker. — Mr. Toodle. 

Stone-mason. — Durdles. 

Straw-bonnet maker. — Jemima Evans. 

Street-sweeper. — Jo. 

Student. — Edmund Denham . 

Sugar-baker. — Gabriel Parsons. 

Suitors in Chancery. — Richard Carstone; Ada Clare; Miss Flite; Mr. Gridley; 
John Jarndyce. 

Surgeons. — Mr. Knight Bell ; Mr. Dawson ; Mr. Lewsome ; Mr. Losberne ; Doctor 
Payne ; Doctor Slammer ; Allan Woodcourt. — See also Physicians. 

Swindlers, etc. — Blackey; Mr. Bonney; Do'em; Fitz- Whisker Fiercy; Alfred 
Jingle; Mr. Jinkins ; Alfred Lammle ; Mr. Merdle; Rigaud; Zephaniah Scadder; 
Montague Tigg; Job Trotter; Captain Walter Waters; Mr. Wolf. 

Tailors. —Mr. Omer; Mr. Trabb; Alexander Trott. 

Tapster. — David Crimple. 

Taxidermist. — Mr. Venus. 

Teachers, etc. — Cornelia Blimber; Doctor Blimber; Mr. Blinkins; Old Cheese- 
man; Mr. Creakle; Mr. Cripples; Amelia and Maria Crumpton; Mr. Dadson; 
MissDonny; Miss Drowvey; Mr. Feeder; Miss Grimmer; Miss Gwynn; Brad- 
ley Headstone; Betty Higden; Latin-Grammar Master; Mrs. Lemon; Mr. 
M-Choakumchild; Mr. Marton; Charles Mell; Miss Monflathers; the Misses 
Nettingall; Nicholas Nickleby; Emma Peecher; Professor Piper; Mr. Sharp; 
Wackford Squeers ; Doctor Strong; Miss Tomkins; Miss Twinkleton ; the Misses 
Wackles. — See also Governesses. 

Temperance Reformers. — Anthony Humm; Jonas Mudge; Brother Tadger. 

Thieves. — Charley Bates; Bet; Tom Chitling; Noah Claypole; John Dawkins 
(the Artful Dodger); Doctor Dundey; Aaron Meshek; Nancy; Mr. Shepherd- 
son; BillSikes; Tally-ho Thompson ; Earl of Warwick. 

Toadies. — Mr. Boots; Mr, Brewer; Mr. and Mrs. Camilla; Mrs. Coiler; Mr. 
Flamwell; Georgiana; Mr. Pluck; Sarah Pocket; Mr. Pyke. 

Tobacconist. — Miss Chivery. 

Toy-maker. — Caleb Plummer. 

Toy-mercliant. — Tackleton. 

Tramps. — John Anderson ; Mrs. Anderson. 

Turner. — Mr. Kenwigs. 

Turnkeys, etc. — Mr. Akerman; Bob; John Chivery; Young John Chivery; 
Solomon Pross ; Tom Roker. 



556 B'^e ©Icfeens JBfctfonatj. 



Umbrella-inaker. — Alexander Trott. 

Undertakers. — Mr. Joram; Mr. Mould; Mr. Omer; Mr. Sowerberry; Tacker; 

Mr. Trabb. 
Usurers. — Anthony Chuzzlewlt; Arthur Gride; Ralph Nickleby; Grandfather 

Smallweed. 

Vagabonds, etc. — John Anderson; Mr. Click; Bob Miles; Edward Twigger; 

Winking Charley. 
Valets. — See Servants. 
Verger. — Mr. Tope. 
Vessels. — The Beauty; the Cautious Clara; the Family; the Royal Skewer; the 

Scorpion; the Screw; the Son and Heir. 
Vestrymen. — Mr. Chib; Captain Banger; Mr. Dogginson ; Mr.Magg; Mr. Tiddy- 

pot; Mr. Wigsby. 

Waiters. — Archbishop of Greenwich; Ben; Christopher; Ezekiel; Jack; John; 

MissPiflf; William Potkins ; Mrs. Sniff ; Thomas; Miss Whiff ; William. 
Watermen. — Dando; Jesse Hexam; Mr. Lobley; Roger Riderhood ; Tommy. 
Weaver. — Stephen Blackpool. 
Wharfinger. — Mr. Winkle, senior. 
WTieelwriglit. — Mr. Hubble. 

Widowers. — Mr. John Dounce ; John Podgers ; Tony Weller. 
Widows. — Barbara's Mother; Mrs. Bardell; Mrs.Bedwin; Mrs. Billickin ; Mrs. 

Bloss; Mrs. Brandley ; Mrs. Briggs; Mrs. Budger; Mrs. Clennam; Mrs. Coiler; 

Mrs. Copperfield ; Mrs.Comey; Mrs.Crisparkle; LadyFareway; Mrs. Fielding; 

Flora Pinching; Sally Flanders; Mrs. General: Mrs. Gowan; Edith Granger; 

Mrs. Gummidge; Mrs. Guppy; Mrs. Heep; Mrs. Jiniwin; Mrs. Markleham; 

Mrs. Maplesone; Mrs. Mitts; Mrs. Nickleby ; Mrs. Nubbles; Mrs. Pegler; Mrs. 

Skewton; Mrs. Sparsit; Mrs. Starling; Mrs. Steerforth; Mrs. Taunton; Lady 

Tippins; Mrs.Tisher; Mrs. Wardle; Mrs. Woodcourt. 



(S^tntxai Unhtx. 



" What a crowd of deatliless characters the children of his brain compose I What mar* 
vellous variety, distinctness, interest, they possess 1 . . . And with what a royal temper 
of kindness and magnanimity the great master . . . treats [them] all ! . . . Even tho 
base, the wiclced, the cruel, are rather the objects of a malicious fun, a sportive, half-pity 
ing mockery, than of malignant scorn or vindictive hate. Pickwick, Kit Nubbles, Swivel- 
ler, Squeers, Smike, Oliver, Esther, Cheeryble, Skimpole, Jamdyce, Micawber, Boythorn, 
andthe rest,— he regards them all, and would influence us to regard them all, with the 
divine toleration and charity of Nature herself, who holds the same firmament above scoun- 
drel and saint, spreads the same earth beneath fool and hero .... Such a man puts the 
human race in his debt. He emancipates, enriches, and blesses us." — William R. Algkr. 



Abel Cottage, 192. 

Adams, 291. 

Adams, Captain, 124. 

Adams, Jane, 154, 155. 

Adams, Mr., 417. 

African Knife-Swallower, 124. 

Aged, The. 5^ee Wemmick, Mr., senior, 

444. 
Aggerawayter, 408. 
Agnes, 8. 

Akerman, Mr., 196. 
Akershera, Sophronia, 480. 
Alice, 124. 
Alice, Mistress, 157. 
Alicia, Princess, 503. 
Alicumpaine, Mrs., 504. 
Allen, Arabella, 20. 
Allen, Benjamin, 20. 
All-Muggleton Cricket Club, 24. 
Alphonse, 124. 
Amelia, 11, 425. 

^ melia Cottage, Poplar Walk, 9. 
derson, John, 419. 

'erson, Mrs., 420. 
.igel. The, 87. 
Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and 

Life Insurance Company, 218, 242. 
" Ankworks Package, The," 247. 
Anne, 154, 258. 
Anny, 91. 
Antonio, 420. 

Artful Dodger. See Dawkins, John, 94. 
Ashford, Nettie, 504. 
Astley's, 4. 
Aunt, Mr. F.'s,390. 
A-venger, The. 5^ee Pepper, 434. 
A.yresleigh, Mr., 20. 



Babley, Richard, 291. 

Bachelor, The, 164. 

Badger, Bayham, 332. 

Badger, Mrs. Bayham, 333. 

Bagman, The One-eyed, 20. 

Bagnet, Malta, 333. 

Bagnet, Matthew, 333. 

Bagnet, Mrs., 333. 

Bagnet, Quebec, 333. 

Bagnet, Woolwich, 334. 

Bagstock, Major Joseph, 258. 

Bailey, Captain, 291. 

Bailey, junior, 217. 

Balderstone, Thomas, 14. 

Ball's Pond, 276. 

Bamber, Jack, 20. 

Banger, Captain, 534. 

Bangham, Mrs., 376. 

Banks, Major, 417. 

Bantam, Angelo Cyrus, 20. 

Baps, Mr., 259. 

Baps, Mrs., 259. 

Barbara, 164. 

Barbara's Mother, 164. 

Barbary, Miss, 334. 

Barbox Brothers, and Barbox Bbo 

THERS AND CO., 495. 

Barbox Brothers, 495. 

Bardell, Mrs. Martha, 20. 

Bardell, Tommy, 21. 

Bark, Bully, 532. 

Barker, Miss Fanny, 541. 

Barker, William, 4. 

Barkis, Clara Peggotty. See Peggotty, 

Clara, 293. 
Barkis, Mr., 292. 
Barley, Clara, 425. 

657 



558 



SClje JSfcfeens ISfctionars. 



Barley, Old Bill, 425. 

Barlow, Mr., 510. 

Barnaby Rudge, 195. 

Barnacle, Clarence, 378. 

Barnacle, Ferdinand, 378. 

Barnacle, Lord Decimus Tite, 377. 

Barnacle, Mr. Tite, 378. 

Barney, 91. 

Barsad , J ohn . See Pross, Solomon, 411. 

Barton, Jacob, 11. 

Bates, Charley, 91. 

Battens, Mr., 420. 

Battle of Life, 256. 

Bayton, Mr., 91. 

Bazzard, Mr., 513. 

Beadle, Harriet, 379. 

Beadle, The, 2. 

Bear, Prince, 533. 

" Bearings, The, of this observation lays 

in the application on it," 262. 
Beatrice, 495. 
" Beauty, The," 504. 
Bebelle. 450. 
Becky, 91. 
Beckwith, Alfred. See Meltham, Mr., 

417. 
Bedwin, Mrs., 91. 
Beeswax, Considerations on the Policy 

of Removing the Duty on, 10. 
Begging-Letter Writer, The, 526. 
Begs, Mrs. Ridger, 303. 
Belinda. 158. 
Bell, Mr. Knight, 118. 
Bell Yard, 356. 
Bella, 8. 
Belle, 209, 

Belling, Master, 125. 
Belvawney, Miss, 125. 
Ben, 372. 

Benson, Lucy, 537. 
Benson, Old, 537. 
Benson, Young, 537. 
Benton, Miss, 158. 
Berinthia, 2-59. 
Berry. - See Berinthia, 259. 
Bet, or Betsey, 91. 
Betsey, 21. 
Bevan, Mr., 217. 

Beverley, Mr. See Loggins, Mr., 4. 
Bib, Julius Washington Merry weather, 

217. 
Biddy, 425. 
Bigby, Mrs., 527. 
Bigwig Family, The, 529. 
Biler. See Toodle, Robin, 277. 
Bill, 91. 
Bill, Uncle, 4. 
Billickin, 514. 
Billsmethi, Master, 7. 
Billsmettii, Miss, 7. 
Billsmethi, Signor, 7. 
Births. Mrs. Meek, or A Son, 527. 
Bitherstone, Master, 2i50. 
Bitzer, 360. 
Black, 532. 
Black, Mrs., 504. 

Black Boy and Stomach- Ache, 118. 
Black Lion, 196, 208. 
Blackej', 532. 
Blackpool, Mrs,, 361. 



Blackpool, Stephen, 361. 

Bladud, Prince, 21. 

Bbindois. See Rigaud, 392. 

Blank, Mr., 119. 

Blathers and Duff, 91. 

Bleak House, 332. 

Bleeding Heart Yard, 379. 

Bligh, Captain, 525. 

Blight, Young, 460. 

Bliraber, Cornelia, 261. 

Blimbcr, Doctor, 260. 

Blimber, Mrs., 260. 

Blinder, Mrs., 334. 

Blinkins, Mr., 534. 

Blocker, Mr., 529. 

Blockilt, Mrs., 261. 

Blockson, Mrs., 125. 

Bloomsbury Christening, The, 19. 

Bloss, Mrs., 8. 

Blotton, Mr., 21. 

Blubb, Mr., 119. 

Blue Boar, The, 88, 442. 

Blue Dragon, The, 225. 

Blues, The, 50. 

Blunderstone Rookery, 290. 

Blunderum, Mr., 119. 

Boarding-Hodse, The, 8. 

Bob, 379. 

Bobbo, 452. 

Bobster, Cecilia, 125. 

Bobster, Mr., 125. 

Boffin, Mrs. Henrietta, 460. 

Boffin, Nicoderaus, 461. 

Boffin's Bower, 463. 

Bogsby, James George, 334.* 

Bokum, Mrs., 261. 

Bolder, 125. 

Boldheart, Captain, 504. 

Boldwig, Captain, 21. 

Bolo, Miss, 21. 

Bolter, Morris. See Claypole, Noah, 93. 

Bones, Mr. Banjo, 420. 

Bones, Mrs. Banjo, 420. 

Bonney, Mr., 125. 

Boodle, Lord, 334. 

Boorker, Bill. See Barker, William, 4. 

Boot- Jack and Countenance, 118. 

Boots. See Cobbs, 373. 

Boots, Mr., 463. 

Boozey, William, 505. 

Borrioboola-Gha, 342. 

Borum, Augustus, 125. 

Borura, Charlotte, 125. 

Borum, Emma, 125. 

Borum, Mr., 125. 

Borum, Mrs., 125. 

Bottle-nosed Ned. See Twigger, Ed- 
ward, 540. 

Bouclet, Madame, 450. 

Bounderby, Josiah, 363. 

Bounderby, Louisa. See Gradgrind, 
Louisa, 366. 

** Bounty, The," 525. 

Bowley, Lady, 249. 

Bowley, Master, 249. 

Bowley, Sir Joseph, 149. 

" Bow-wows, Gone to the demnition," 
132. 

Boxer, 252. 

Boy at Mugby, 498. 



(SJetietal Jintitp 



559 



Boythorn, Lawrence, 834. 

Boz, 1. 

Brandley, Mrs., 425. 
Brass, Sally, 165. 
Brass, Sampson, 165. 
Bravaasa, Miss, 125. 
Bray, Madeline, 125. 
Bray, Walter, 126. 
Brewer, Mr., '163. 
Brick, Jefforhon, 21.. 

IS'Lan'e BrScK Slunltea Grand 
Junction Ebeneier Temperance As- 

eociation, 27. 
Brig Place, 273. 
Briggs, 261. 
Briggs, Alexander, li. 
Briggs, Julia, 12. 
Briggs, Kate, 12. 
Briggs, Miss, 12. 
Briggs, Mrs., 12. 
Briggs, Samuel, li. 
Brimer, Mr., 525. 

Britain, Benjamin, 256. .„^i„ 

Britain! Little. See Britain, Benjamin, 

256. 
Brittles, 91. 
Brobity, Miss, 523. 
Brogley, Mr., 261. 
Brogson, Mr., 9. 
Broker's Man, The, 3. 
Brooker, 126. 
Brooks of Sheffield, 317. 
Browdie, John, 126. -.j. 

Browdie, Mrs. 5ee Price, Matilda, 138. 
Brown, 505. 
Brown, Alice, 261. 
Brown, Emily, 13, 535. 
Brown, Good Mrs., 261. 
Brown, Mr., 14. 

Brown. Mr. (of Edenburg), 119. 
Brownlow, Mr., 91. 
Browns, The three Miss, 3. 
Buchan's Domestic Medicine, 394. 
Bucket, Mr. Inspector, 335. 
Bucket, Mrs., 336, 
Bud, Rosa, 515. * . a 

Budden, Alexander Augustus, 9. 
Budden, Amelia, 9. 
Budden. Octavius, 9. 
Budger, Mrs., 21. 
Bufter, Doctor, 119. 
Buffey. Ut. Hon. William, 335 
Baffle, Mr., 456. 
Buffle, Mrs., 457. 
B utile, Robina, 457. 
Buffs. The, 50. 
Buffum. Oscar, 218. 
Balder, Colonel, 21. 
Bulder, Mrs Colonel, a. 
Buldcr, Miss, 21. 
Bullamy, 218. 
Bull, The, 21. 
Bull. Prince, 533. 
Bull's-eye, 91. 
Bullfinch, 510. 
Bulph, Mr..l26. 
Bumble. Mr, 91. 
Bumple, Michael, 4. 
Vimpus, Sergeant, 21. 



Bung, Mr., 2, 3. 
Bunsby, Captain Jack, 261. 
Burgess and Co., 278. 
Bush, The, 20. 
Butcher. William, 530. 
Butler, Theodosius, 10. 
Buzfuz, Serjeant, 21. 

SiSk,''Mr. John, or Raymond, 425. 

Camilla, Mrs., 426. 

Cape, Mr., 14. 

Captain, The, 5. 

Carker, Harriet, 263. 

Carker, James, 263. 

Carker, John, 264. 

Carlavero, Giovanni, 420. 

Caroline, 209. 

Carstone, Richard, 336. 

Carter, Mr., 119. 

Carton, Sydney, 400. 

Casby, Christopher, 379. 

'- Catechism, Overhaul your," 265. 

« Cautious Clara, The," 261. 

Cavalletto, John Baptist, 3(9. 

Certainpersonio, Prince, 505. 

Chadband, Mrs. See Rachael, Mrs., 33T. 

Chadband, Rev. Mr., 336. 

Chancery Prisoner, 1 he, iz. 

Charitable Grinder, 280. 

Charles, 155 

Charley, 293, 337, 373. 

Charlotte, 93, 154. 

Cheap Jack, 492. 

Cheeryble Brothers, 126. 

Cheeryble, Frank, 127. 

Cheeseman, Old, 523. 

Cheggs, Miss. 165. 

gSS'The'^'^ee Wilfer, Reginald. 

486. 
Chesney Wold, 355. 
Chester, Mr., or Sir John, 196. 
Cliester, Edward, 196. 
Chestle, Mr.,293. 
Chib, Mr., 534. 
Chick, John, 264. 
Chick, Mrs. Louisa, 264. 
Chicken, The Game, 264. 
Chickenstalker, Mrs. Anne 249. 
rhicksev and Stobbles, 479. 
Chickwe^ed. See Smallweed, Bartliolo. 

mew, 337. 
Childers. E. W. B., 363. 
Child-wife, 295. 
Child's Story, The, 52S. 
Chill, Uncle, 527. 
Chillip. Mr., 294. 
Chimes, The, 249. 
China Shepherdess, The. 

parkle. Mrs , 515. 
Chinks's Basin, 445. 
Chips, 420. 
Chirrup, Mrs., 155. 
Chirrup, Mr., 155. 
Chitling,Tora,93. 
Cbiverv. John, 380. 
Chivery, Mrs., 381. 
Chivery, Young John, 380. 
I Choke, General Cyrus, 219. 



See Cris* 



560 



a:|)e BCcfeens ISfctfonars. 



Chollop, Major Hannibal, 219. 

Chopper, Mrs., 155. 

Chowley. See MacStinger, Charles, 264. 

Chowser, Colonel, 127. 

Christian, Fletcher, 525. 

Christian, Thursday October, 625. 

Christiana, 527. 

Christmas Carol, 209. 

Christmas Dinner, A, 5. 

Christopher, 450. 

Chuckster, Mr., 165. 

Chuffey, Mr., 220. 

Chumbledon Square, 534, 

Chuzzlewit, Anthony, 220. 

Chuzzlewit, George, 220. 

Chuzzlewit, Jonas, 220. 

Chuzzlewit, Martin, senior, 221. 

Chuzzlewit, Martin, the younger, 221. 

Cicero, 222. 

Circumlocution OflQce, 377. 

Clare, Ada, 337. 

Clark, Mr.. 264. 

Clarkson, 530. 

Clarriker, 4-,'6. 

Claypole, Noah, 93. 

Claypole, Mrs. Noah. See Charlotte, 93. 

Cleaver, Fanny, 463. 

Cleaver, Mr., 466. 

Clennam, Arthur, 381. 

Clennam, Mrs., 382, 

Cleopatra. See Skewton, Mrs., 264. 

Clergyman, The, 22, 165. 

Cleverly, Susannah, 420. 

Cleverly, AVilliam, 420. 

Click, Mr., 532. 

Clickett, 294. 

Cloisterham. 516. 

Clubber, Lady, 22, 

Clubber, Sir Thomas, 22. 

Clubbers, The Miss, 22, 

Cluppins, Betsey, 22. 

Cly, Roger, 405, 

Coavinses, See Neckett, Mr., 337. 

Cobb, Tom, 196. 

Cobbey, 127. 

Cobbs, 374. 

Cocker, Mr. Indignation, 510. 

Codger, Miss, 222, 

Codlin, Tom, 165. 

Coiler, Mrs., 426. 

Compact Enchantress, The, 530. 

Corapeyson, 426. 

" Consequence, It 's of no," 278. 

Considerations on the Policy of Remov- 
ing the Duty on Beeswax, 10, 
Convened Chief Composite Committee 
of Central and District Philanthro- 
pists, 520, 
Conway, General, 196, 
Cooper. Augustus, 7. 
Copperfiell, Mrs. Clara, 294. 
Copperfield. David, 294. 
Copperfte'.d, Dora, See Spenlow, Dora, 

297. 
Coppernose, Mr., 119. 
Corney, Mrs., 94. 
Corpse Common, 536. 
Countess, The, See Grimwood, Eliza, 

531. 
Crackit, Toby, 94. 



Craddock, Mrs,, 22, 

Craggs, Thomas, 256. 

Craggs, Mrs., 256, 

Cratchit, Belinda. 210. 

Cratchit, Bob, 209, 

Cratchit, Martha, 210. 

Cratchit, Mrs., 210. 

Cratchit, Peter, 210. 

Cratchit, Tim, 210. 

Creakle, Miss, 298. 

Creakle, Mr., 297. 

Creakle, Mrs., 298. 

Grewler, Caroline, 298. 

Crewler, Louisa, 298. 

Crewler, Lucy, 298. 

Crewler, Margaret, 298. 

Crewler, Mrs., 298. 

Crewler, Rev. Horace, 299. 

Crewler, Sarah, 298. 

Crewler, Sophy, 298, 

Cricket on the Hearth, 252 

Crimple, David, 223. 

Crinkles, Mr., 119, 

Cripples, Master, 382. 

Cripples, Mr., 382. 

Crisparkle, Mrs., 515. 

Crisparkle, Rev. Septimus, 516. 

Crofts, 155. 

Crookey. 22. 

Crowl. Mr., 127. 

Crozier, The, 516. 

Crummies, Master, 127. 

Crummies, Mrs., 127. v 

Crummies, Ninetta, 128. 

Crummies, Percy, 127. 

Crummies, Vincent, 127. 

Crumpton, Amelia, 10. 

Crumpton, Maria, 10. 

Cruncher, Jerry, 405. 

Cruncher, Mrs.. 408. 

Cruncher! Young Jerry, 40T, 

Crupp, Mrs., 299. 

Crushton, Hon, Mr,, 22. 

Curdle, Mrs., 128. 

Curdle, Mr., 128, 

Cute, Alderman, 249. 

Cutler, Mr., 128. 

Cutler, Mrs., 128, 

Cuttle, Captain Edward, 264. 

Dadson, Mr., 10. 

Dadson, Mrs., 10, 

Daisy, Solomon, 196. 

Dancing Academy, The, 7. 

Dando, 4, 

Danton, Mr., 16. 

Darby, 337. 

Darnay, Charles. See St. Evr^monde, 

Charles, 412. 
Darnay, Lucie. See Manette, Lucie, 410. 
Dartle, Rosa, 299. 
Datcherv. Dick, 515. 
David, 128. 
David, Old, 166. 
David Copperfield, 290. 
Dawes, 382. 
Dawkins, John, 94. 
Daws, Mary, 266. 
Dawson, Mr., 2. 
Deaf Gentleman, The, 158. 



HKznzx^l Xntiej:. 



561 



Dedlock, Lady Honoria, 337. 

Dedlock, Sir Leicester, 337. 

Dedlock, Voiumnia, 338. 

Defarge, Ernest, 408. 

Defargc, Madame Th^r^se, 408. 

Demple, George, 299. 

Den, The, 27. 

Denham, Edmund, 284. 

Dennis, 196. 

Deportment, Model of, 353. 

Deputy, 516. 

Derasseur, M. Loyal, fifee Loyal De- 

rasseur, M., 526. 
Derrick, John, 500. 
Detective Police, The, 530. 
Dibble, Dorothy, 420. 
Dibble. Sampson, 420. 
Dick, Little, 95. 

Dick, Mr. See Babley, Richard, 291. 
Dickens, Mr. John, 303, 352. 
Diego, Don, 530. 
Digby. See Smike, 128. 
Dilber, Mrs., 210. 
Dingley Dell, 86. 
Dingo, Professor, 333. 
Dingwall, Cornelius Brook, 10. 
Dingwall, Lavinia Brook, 10. 
Dingwall, Master Frederick, 10. 
Dingwall, Mrs. Brook, 10. 
Diogenes, 266. 

Dismal Jemmy. See Hutley, -''-'m, 22. 
Ditchwateristics, 119. 
Diver, Colonel, 223. 
Debbie, Julia, 6. 
Dobble, Mr., 6. 
I>obble, Mr., junior, 6. 
Dobble, Mrs., 6 
Dobbs, Julia, 535. 
Doctor Marigold, 492. 
Doctor, 'J'he. See Losberne, Mr., 102. 
Doctors' Commons, 4. 
Dodger, The ArtfuL See Dawkins, 

John, 95. 
Dodson and Fogg, 22. 
Do'em, 540. 
Dogginson, Mr., 534. 
DoUoby, Mr., 299. 
Dolls, Mr. See Cleaver, Mr., 466. 
" Dolphin's Head, The," 422. 

DOMBEY AND SON, 258. 

Dombey, Edith. See Granger, Edith, 

266. 
Dombey, Fanny, 266. 
Dombey, Florence, 266. 
Dombey, Little Paul, 267. 
Dombey, Mr. Paul, 270. 
Donkeys, 327. 
Donny, Miss, 338. 
Dora. See Spenlow, Dora, 299. 
Dornton", Sergeant, 530. 
Dorrit, Amy, 382. 
Dorrit, Edward, 382. 
Dorrit, Fanny,' 382. 
Dorrit, Frederick, 383. 
Dorrit, William, 383. 
Dose. " Such a dose, old woman ! " 385. 
Dot. See Peerybingle, Mary, 252. 
Dotheboys Hall, 133. 
Doubledick, Richard, 372. 
Dounce, John, 6. 



Dowler, Captain, 22. 

Dowler, Mrs., 24. 

Down with the Tide, 533. 

Doyce, Daniel, 384. 

Doze, Professor, 119. 

Drawley, Mr., 119. 

Drood, Edwin, 516. 

Drowvey, Miss, 505. 

Drummle, Bentley, 426. 

Drunkard's Death, The, IT. 

Dubbley, 24. 

Duff. See Blathers and Duff, 95. 

Dull, Mr., 119. 

Dullborough, 423. 

Dumbledon, Master, 534. 

Dumkins, Mr., 24. 

Dummy, Mr., 119. 

Dumps, Nicodemus, 16. 

Dundey, Doctor, 530. 

Dunkle, Doctor Ginery, 223. 

Durdles, 519. 

Eatanswill, 50. 

Eatanswill Blues, 50. 

Eatanswill Buffs, 50. 

" Eatanswill Gazette, The," 50. 

" Eatanswill Independent, The," 60. 

Eden, 222, 240. 

Eden Land Corporation, 219. 

Edkins, Mr., 13. 

Edmunds, George, 537. 

Edmunds, John, 24. 

Edmunds, Mr., 24. 

Edmunds, Mrs., 24. 

Ed8on,Mr., 452, 457. 

Edson, Peggy, 452. 

Edward, 154. 

Edwards, Miss, 166. 

Edwin, 374. 

Edwin Drood, 512. 

Effort, Making an, 264. 

Election tor Beadle, S. 

Ellis, Mr., 6. 

Ellis, Mrs. Ann, 20. 

Elmses, The, 375. 

Emily, 8. 

Em'ly, Little, 299. 

Emma, 24, 541. 

Emmeline, 374. 

Endell, Martha, 299, 

Englishman, Mr. The, 450. 

Estella, 426. 

Evans, Mrs., 6. 

Evans, Jemima, 6. 

Evans, Tilly, 6. 

Evans, Mr., 14. 

Evans, Ricliard, 166. 

Evenson, John, 8. 

Evremonde, Charles. See St. Kvr6» 

monde, Charles, 412. 
Ezekiel, 498. 

F.'s Aunt, Mr. See Mr. F.'s Auiit, 300. 

Face-Maker, Monsieur the, 421. 

Fagin, 95. 

Family, The, 505. 

Fan, 210. 

Fang, Mr., 98. 

Fanny, 528. 



662 



CTlie BCc&ens lOfctConars. 



Fareway, Adelina, 607. 

Fareway, Lady, 507. 

Fareway, Mr., 507. 

Fascination Fledgeby, 466. 

Father of the Marshalsea. See Dorrit, 

William, 383. 
Fee, Doctor W. R.,119. 
Feeder, Mr,, B. A., 271. 
l^eeder, Rev. Alfred, 271. 
Feenix, Cousin, 271. 
Fendall, Sergeant, 530. 
Ferdinand, Miss, 519. 
Fern, Lilian, 250. 
Fern, Wili, 250. 
Feroce, M., 52T, 
Fezziwig, Mr., 210. 
Fezziwig, Mrs., 210. 
Fezziwigs, The three MiflS, 210. 
Fibbetson, Mrs., 299. 
Field, Inspector, 532. 
Fielding, Emma, 154. 
Fielding, May, 252. 
Fielding, Mrs., 252. 
Fiercy, Captain Fitz-Whisker, 540. 
Fikey, 530. 
Filer, Mr., 250. 
Finches of the Grove, 437. 
Finching. Flora, 384. 
" Fine figure. A., of a woman," 428. 
Fips. Mr., 223. 
First of May, The, 5. 
Fish, Mr., 250. 
Fitz-Marsball, Charles Edward. See 

Jingle, Alfred, 24. 
Fixem, 3. 

Fizkln, Horatio, 24. 
Fizkin Lodge, 24. 
Fladdock, General, 223. 
Flam, Hon. Sparkins, 537. 
Flamwell, Mr., 12. 
Flanders, Sally, 421. 
Flare, Hollow down by the, 490. 
Flasher, Wilkins, 24. 
Fledgeby, Fascination, 466. 
Fleetwood, Master, 13. 
Fleetwood, Mrs., 13. 
Fleetwood, Mr., 13. 
Fleming, Agnes, 100. 
Fleming, Rose. See Maylie, Bo0e, 100. 
Flight, A., 530. 
Flintwinch, Affery, 385. 
Flintwinch, Ephraim, 385. 
Flintwinch, Jeremiah, 385. 
Flipfield, Miss, 421. 
Flipfield, Mr.,421. 
Flipfield, Mrs., 421. 
Flipfield. Tom, 421. 
Flite, Miss, 338. 
Flopping, 406. 
Flopson, 427. 
Flowers, 271. 
Flummery, Mr., 119. 
Fogg, Mr. See Dodson and Fogg, 24. 
Folair, Mr., 128. 
Foulon, 415. 
Four Sisters, The, 2. 
Frank, Little, 527. 
Fred, 210. 
Frost, Miss, 534. 
P.'fl Aunt. See Mr. F.'b Aunt, 390. 



Gabelle, Monsieur ThSophile, 409. 

Gabrielle. See Bebelle, 450. 

Galileo Isaac Newton Flamstead, 541. 

Game Chicken, The, 272. 

Gamfield, 100. 

Gamp, Sairey, 223. 

Gander, Mr., 224. 

Gargery, Georgians Maria, 430. 

Gargery, Joe, 427. 

Garland, Abel, 166. 

Garland, Mr., 166. 

Garland, Mrs., 166. 

Gashford, Mr., 197, 543. 

Gaspard, 409. 

Gattleton, Caroline, 15. 

Gattleton, Lucina, 15. 

Gattleton, Miss, 15. 

Gattleton, Mr., 15. 

Gattleton, Mrs., 15. 

Gattleton, SempronluB, 15. 

Gay, Walter, 272. 

Gazingi, Miss, 128. 

General, Mrs., 386. 

Gentleman in Small Clothes, 128. 

George, 128, 166, 299, 374, 457. 

George, Aunt, 5. 

George, Mr. See Rouncewell, George, 

338, 
George, Mrs., 166. 
George Silverman's Explanation, 

507. 
George the Fourth, 352. 
George, Uncle, 5. 
Georgiana, 431. 
Ghost of Art, 529. 
Ghost of Christmas Past, 210. 
Ghost of Christmas Present, 210. 
Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, 210. 
Giant Chronicles, 160. 
Gifted, The. See Mooney, Mr., 542. 
Giggles, Miss, 519. 
Gilbert, Mark, 198. 
Giles, 100. 
Gills, Solomon, 272. 
Gimblet, Brother, 507. 
Glamour, Bob, 466. 
Gliddery, Bob, 466. 
Globson, Bully, 421. 
Glorious ApoUos, 165. 
Glubb, Old, 272. 
Gobler, Mr., 8. 
Gog, 158. 

Golden Cross Inn, 86. 
Golden Dustman, The. 5'e«Boflan,Nico- 

demus, 461. 
Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, 

415. 
Goodwin, 24. 
Gordon, Colonel, 198. 
Gordon, Emma, 364. 
Gordon, Lord George, 198. 
Go wan, Henry. 387. 
Gowan, Mrs., 387. 
Gowan , Mrs. Henry . See Meagles, Min* 

nie, 389. 
Gradgrind, Adam Smith, 365. 
Gradgrind, Jane, 366. 
Gradgrind, Louisa, 366. 
Gradgrind, Maltbus, 366. 
Gradgrind, Mr. Thomas, 364. 



I 



©enetal Kntfer:. 



563 



Gradgrind, Mrs., 365. 

Gradgrind, Thomas, 366. 

Graham, Hugh, 158. 

Graham, Mary, 224. 

Grandfather, Little Nell's. See Little 

Nell's Grandfather, 166. 
Grainger, 299. 
Gran, Mrs., 457. 
Grandfather of Little Nell, 166. 
Graudmarina, Fairy, 505. 
Granger, Edith, 272. 
Grant, William, and Brothers, 128. 
Graymarsh, 128. 
Grayper, Mr., 299. 
Gray per, Mrs., 300. 
Grazinglands, Alexander, 421. 
Grazinglands, Mrs. Arabella, 421. 
Great Expectations, 425. 
Great National Smithers Testimonial, 

347. 
Great White Horse, 32. 
Great Winglebury, 14. 
Great Winglebury Duel, The, 13. 

Green, 532. 

Green, Lucy. 423. 

Green, Miss, 128. 

Green, Mr., 4. 

Green, Mr., junior, 4. 

Green, Tom, 198. , ^^ 

Greens. " Wait till the greens is off her 
mind," 333. 

Greenwich, Archbishop of, 467. 

Gregsbury, Mr., 128. 

Grewgious, Hiram, 519. 

Gride. Arthur, 129. 

Gridley, Mr., 338. 

Grig, Tom, 541. 

Grime, Professor, 119. 

Grimmer, Miss, 505. 

Grimwig, Mr., 101. 

Grimwood, Eliza, 531. 

'• Grind, Onedemd horrid," 133. 

Grinder, Mr., 171. 

Grip, 198. 

Groflan, Thomas, 24. 

Grogzwig, 130. 

Grogzwig, Baron of, 129, 

Groper, Colonel, 224. 

Groves, James, 171. 

Growlery, The, 341. 

Grub, Gabriel, 25. 

Grub, Mr., 119. 

Grubble, W., 339. 

Grudden, Mrs., 129. 

Grueby, John, 199. 

Gruff and Glum, 467. 

Gruff and Tackleton, 256. 

Grummer, Daniel, 25. 

Grummidge, Doctor, 119. 

Grundy, Mr., 25. 

Gulpidge, Mr., 300. 

Gulpidge, Mrs., 300. 

Gummidge, Mrs., 300. -^ 

Gumtion House, 534. 

Gunter, Mr., 25. 

Guppy, Mrs., 339. 

Guppy, William, 339. 

Gusher, Mr., 340. 

Guster, 340. 

Qwynn, Miss, 25. 

47 



Haggage, Doctor, 387. 

Hall, Samuel Carter, 229. 

" Halsewell, The," 525. 

Hamlet's Aunt. See Spiker, Mrs. Henry, 

318. ^- 

Hampstead Ponds, Speculations on the 

Source of the, 42. 
Handel, 446. „ , . 

Handford, Julius. See Harmon, John, 

467. 
Hannah, 129. 
Hard Times, 360. 
Hardy, Mr., 13. 
Haredale, Emma, 199. 
Haredale, Geoffrey, 199. 
Harker, Mr., 500. 
Harleigh, Mr., 15. 
Harmon, John, 467. 
Harmon, Mrs. John. See Wilfer, Bella, 

485. 
Harmonic meetings, 352. 
Harmony Jail, 463. 
Harris, 25. 

Harris, Mrs., 224, 234. 
Harris, Mr., 7, 171. 
Harry, 171. 

Harthouse, James, 366. 
Harvey, Mr., 154. 
Haunted Man, The, 284. 
Haven of Philanthropy, 521. 
Havisham, Estella. See Estella, 428. 
Havisham, Miss, 431. 
Hawdon, Captain, 340. 
Hawdon,Mis8. 5ee Summerson, Esther, 

351. 
Hawk. Sir Mulberry, 129. 
Hawkyard, Mr. Verity, 507, 
'<■ Head, I'll eat my," 102. 
Head, Oakum, 421. 
Headstone, Bradley, 467. 
" Heart, Nature and," 281. 
Heathfield, Alfred, 256. 
Heathfield, Grace. See Jeddler, Grace, 

257. 
Heep, Mrs., 300. 
Heep, Uriah, 300. 
Helves, Captain, 13. 
Henry, 25. 
Henry, Mr., 5. 
Hexam, Charley, 469. 
Hexam, Jesse, or Gaffer, 469, 
Hexam, Lizzie, 469. 
Heyling, George, 25. 
Heyling, Mary, 25. 
Hicks, Septimus, 8, 
Higden, Betty, 470. 
Hilton, Mr., 10. 
Hoghton Towers, 508. 
Holiday Romance, 503. 
Hollow, The, down by the flare, 490, 
Holly Tree, The, 373. 
Hominy, Mrs., 224. 
Honeythunder, Luke, 520. 
Hopkins, Captain, 301. 
Hopkins, Jack, 26. 
Horatio Sparkins, 11. 
Hortense, Mademoiselle, 341. 
Hospital Patient, The, 6. 
Howler, Rev. Melchisedech, 272. 
Hubble, Mr., 432. 



564 



8ri)e 29icfeen5 ©fctfonarj. 



Hubble, Mrs., 432. 
Hugh, 199. 

Human Interest Brothers, 419. 
Humm, Anthony, 27. 
Humphrey, Master. See Master Hum- 
phrey, IbB: 
Hunt, 27. 
Hunt, Leigh, 348. 
Hunted Down, 417. 
Hunter, Horace, 14. 
Hunter, Mrs. Leo, 27. 
Hunter, Leo, 29. 
Hutley, Jem, 29. 

Ikey, 15. 

Inestimable Life Assurance Company, 

417. 
Infant Bonds of Joy, 347. 
Infant Phenomenon, The. See Cromm- 

les, Ninetta, 128. 
Inspector, Mr., 471. 
I. O. U., 330. 
Is She His Wete? 538. 
Isaac, 29. 

Iselin, Sophia, 351. 
Ivins, J'mima, 6. 
Izzard, Mr., ^4. 

Jack, 6, 224, 433. 

Jackal, The, 414. 

Jack, Dark, 421. 

Jack, Mercantile, 422. 

Jackman, Major Jemmy, 453, 467. 

Jackson, Mr., 29, 495. 

Jacobs, Solomon, 15. 

Jacques One, 409. 

Jacques Two, 409. 

Jacques Three, 409. 

Jacques Pour, 409. 

Jacques Five, 409. 

Jaggers, Mr., 433. 

James, 8. 10. 

James, Master, 154. 

Jane, 5, 11, 225, 454. 

Jane, Aunt, 5. 

Janet, 302. 

"Janet! Donkeys I » 327. 

Janus Weathercock, 418. 

Jarley, Mrs., 171. 

Jamdyce and Jamdyce, 341, 

Jamdyce, John, 341. 

Jasper, John^ 521. 

Jeddler, Doctor Anthony, 256. 

Jeddler, Grace, 257. 

Jeddler, Marion, 257. 

Jellyby, Caroline, 342. 

Jellyby, Mr., 343. 

Jellyby, Mrs., 342. 

Jellyby, Peepy, 343. 

Jem, 15. 

Jemima, 272. 

Jemmy, Dismal. See Hutley, Jem, 29. 

Jenkins, Miss, 15. 

Jenkinson, 388. 

Jennings, Miss, 521. 

Jennings, Mr., 7, 6^. 

Jenny, 343. 

Jerry, 171. 

Jingle, Alfred, 29. 

Jiuiwin, Mrs., 171. 



Jinkins, 5. 

Jinkins, Mr., 30, 225. 

Jinkinson, 158. 

Jinks, Mr., 30. 

Jip, 302. 

Jo, 343. 

Jobba, Mr., 119. 

Jobling, Doctor John, 225. 

Jobling, Tony, 345. 

Jobson, Jesse, Number Two, 422. 

Jodd, Mr., 225. 

Joe, 210, 272, 409, 521. 

Joe, the Fat Boy, 31. 

Joey, Captain, 471. 

John, 3, 12, 15, 31, 272, 510, 520, 530, 538, 

538. 
John, Mr., 154. 
Johnny, 471. 
Johnson, 272. 
Johnson, John, 536. 
Johnson, Mr., 129. 
Jolly, 241. 

Jolly Bargemen, The, 434. 
Jolly Boatmen, The, 539. 
Jolly Sandboys, The, 192. 
Jolly Tapley, The, 241. 
Joltered, Sir William, 119. 
Jonathan, 471. 
Jones, George, 471. 
Jones, Mr., 7, 9. 
Joram, Mr., 302. 
Joram, Mrs. Minnie. See Omer, Misi 

Minnie, 302. 
Jorkins, Mr., 302. 
Joskin, 492. 
Jowl. Joe, 172. 
Joy, Thomas, 533. 
Jupe, Cecilia, 367. 
Jupe, Signor, 367. 

Kags, 102. 

Kate, 31, 272. 

Kedgick, Captain, 225. 

Kenge, Conversation, 345. 

Kenwigs, Mrs., 130. 

Kenwigs, Mr., 129. 

Kenwigs, Morleena, 130. 

Ketch, Professor John, 119. 

Kettle, Lafayette, 225. 

Kibble, Jacob, 471. 

Kidderminster, Master, 367. 

Kinch, Horace, 422. 

Kindheart, Mr., 422. 

Kitterbell, Charles, 16. 

Kitterbell, Frederick Charles WiUlam, 

17. 
Kitterbell, Jemima, 17. 
Klem, Miss, 422. 
Klem, Mr., 422. 
Klem, Mrs., 422. 
Knag, Miss, 130. 
Knag. Mortimer, 130. 
Koeldwethout, Baron von, 130. 
Koeldwethout, Baroness von, 131. 
Krook, Mr., 345. 
Kutankumagen, Doctor, 120. 
Kwakley, Mr., 120. 

La Creevy, Miss, 131. 
Ladies' Bible and Prayer-Book Distri 
bution Society, 3. 



®eneral Kntrej:. 



565 



Ladtes' Societies, The, 3, 

Lagnier. See Rigaud, 392. 

Laing, A. S., 98. 

Lammle, Alfred, 471. 

Lammle, Mrs. Alfred. See Akershem, 

Miss Sophronia, 460. 
Lamplighter's Story, The, 641. 
Lamps, 49fi. 
Landless, Helena, 521. 
Landless, Neville, 522. 
Landor, Walter Savage, 334. 
Lane, Miss, 131. 
Langdale, Mr., 200. 
Langley, Mr., 450. 
Larkins, Jem, 4. 
Larkins, Miss, 302. 
Larkins, Mr., 302. 
'•Larks, what I "436. 
Last Cab-Driver, The, and the 

First Omnibus-Cad, 4. 
Last Moments of the Learned Pig, 119. 
Last of the Patriarchs. See Casby, Chris- 
topher, 384. 
Latin-Grammar Master, The, 505. 
Laurie, Sir Peter, 250. 
Learned Pig, Last Moments of the, 119. 
Leath, Angela, 374. 
Leaver, Mr., 120. 
Leaver, Augusta, 154. 
Leaver, Augustus, 154. 
Ledbrain, Mr. X., 120. 
Ledrook, Miss, 131. 
Leeford, Edvtrard, 102. 
Legion, 529. 
Lemon, Mrs., 505. 
Lenville, Mrs., 131. 
Lenville, Thomas, 131. 
Lewes, G.H., 345. 
Lewsome, Mr., 225. 

Lighterman's Arms, The, 539. 

Lightwood, Mortimer, 471. 

Lignum Vitae, 333. 

LiMan. See Fern, Lilian, 250. 

Lillerton, Miss, 15. 

Lillyvick, Mrs. See Petowker, Henri- 
etta, 138. 

Lillyvick, Mr., 131. 

Limbury, Mrs., 538. 

Limbury, Peter, 538. 

Limbkins, 102. 

Linkinwater, Miss, 134. 

Linkinwater, Mrs. See La Creevy, 
Miss, 131. 

Linkinwater, Tim, 132. 

Lirriper, Doctor Joshua, 457. 

Llrriper, Emma, 454, 458. 

Lirriper, Jemmy Jackman, 454, 458. 

List, Isaac, 172. 

Littimer, 302. 

Little Bethel, 172. 

Little Britain. See Britain, Benjamin, 
256. 

Little Dinner, A, in an Hour, 510. 

Little Dorrit, 376. 

Little Nell. See Trent, Little Nell, 185. 

Little Nell's Grandfather. See Grand- 
father, Little Nell's, 166. 

Little Winkling Street, 534. 
Lively, Mr., 102. 
Uz. 346. 



Lobbs, Maria, 31. 

Lobbs, Old, 32. 

Lobley, Mr., 622. 

Lobskini, Signer, 10. 

Lodge of Glorious ApoUos, 165. 

Loggins, Mr.,4. 

London Recreations, 4. 

Long Ears, Hon, and Rev. Mr., 120. 

Long Voyage, The, 525. 

Long Lost, The, 421. 

Longford, Edmund, 284. 

Lorry, Jarvis, 409. 

Losberne, Mr., 102. 

Louisa, 155. 

Lovetown, Mr. Alfred, 538. 

Lovetown, Mrs., 538. 

Lowten, Mr., 32. 

Loyal Derasseur, M., 626. 

Lucas, Solomon, 32. 

Luffey, Mr., 32. 

Lumbey, Doctor, 132. 

Lupin, Mrs., 225. 

Lying Awake, 527. 

M'Choakumchild, Mr., 367. 
Mackin, Mrs., 5. 
Macklin, Mrs., 3. 
Macmanus, Mr., 525. 
MacStinger, Alexander, 273, 
MacStinger, Charles, 273. 
MacStinger, Juliana, 273. 
MacStinger, Mrs., 273. 
Maddox, John, 537. 
Madgers, Winifred, 459. 
Magg, Mr., 534. 
Maggy, 388. 
Magnus, Peter, 32. 
Magog, 158. 
Magwitch, Abel, 433. 
Making a Night of it, T. 
Malderton, Frederick, 12. 
Malderton, Marianne, 12. 
Malderton, Mr., 12. 
Malderton, Mrs., 12. 
Malderton, Teresa, 12. 
Malderton!, Thomas, 12. 
Maldon, Jack, 302. 
Mallard, Mr., 37. 
Mallet, Mr., 120. 
Man from Shropshire, 338. 
Manette, Doctor Alexander, 410. 
Manette, Lucie, 410. 
Maun, Mrs., 102. 
Manners, Julia, 14. 
Manning, Mrs., 341. 
Manor Farm, 46. 
Mansel, Miss, 525. 
Mantalini, Alfred, 132. 
Mantalini, Madame, 132. 
Maplesone, Julia, 9. 
Maplesone, Matilda, 9. 
Maplesone, Mrs., 8. 
Marchioness, The, 172, 543. 
Margaret, Aunt, 5. 
" Margin, Leaving a," 438. 
Marigold, Doctor, 492. 
Marigold, Mrs , 493. 
Marigold, Little Sophy, 493. 
Marigold, Willum, 493. 
Markham, 303. 



566 



^))e BCc&ens Blctionarg. 



Markleham, Mrs., 303. 

Marks, Will, 158. 

Marley, Ghost of Jacob, 211. 

Maroon, Captain, 388. 

Marquis of Granby, 79. 

Marshall, Mary, 372. 

Marshalsea, Father of the. See Dorrit, 

William, 383. 
Martha, 15, 102, 275. 
Martha, Aunt, 257. 
Martin, 37. 
Martin, Amelia, 7. 
Martin, Jack, 37. 
Martin, Miss, 451. 
Martin, Mr., 37. 
Martin Chuzzlewit, 216. 
Martineau, Miss, 343. 
Marton, Mr., 172. 
Marwood, Alice. See Brown, Alice, 

275. 
Mary, 4, 37. 
Mary Ann, 11. 
Mary Anne, 434, 471. 
Master Humphrey, 158, 164. 
Master Humphrey's Clock, 156. 
Matinters, The two Miss, 37. 
Mawls, Master, 634. 
Maxby, Master, 534. 
Maxey, Caroline, 454. 
Maylie, Harry, 102. 
Maylie, Mrs., 102. 
Maylie, Rose, 102. 
Maypole Inn, 204. 
Meagles, Minnie, 389. 
Meagles, Mr., 388. 
Meagles, Mrs., 389. 
Mealy Potatoes, 303. 
Meek, Augustus George, 527. 
Meek, George, 527. 
Meek, Mrs,, 527. 
>Melia, 275. 
Mell, Charles, 303. 
Mell, Mrs., 303. 
Mellows, Mr. J., 422. 
Meltham, Mr., 417. 
Mclville.son, MissM., 348. 
Mender of Roads, The. See Jacqdes 

Five, 409. 
Mercury, 346. 
Mercy, 422. 
Merdle, Mr., 389. 
Merdle, Mrs., 389. 
Meriton, Henry, 525. 
Merrylegs, 368. 

Merry winkle, Mr. and Mrs., 155. 
Mcsheck, Aaron, 530. 
Micawber, Master Wilkins, 303. 
Micawber, Kmraa, 303. 
Micawber, Mr. Wilkins, 303. 
Micawber, Mrs. Emma, 310. 
Michael, 528. 
Miff, Mrs., 275. 
Miggs, Miss, 200. 
Mike, 434. 
Miles, Bob, 532. 
Miles, Owen, 159. 
^riIler,Mr„37. 
Millers, 434. 

Mill-Pond Bank, Chinks's Basin, 445. 
Mills, Julia, 311, 526. 



Mills, Mr., 312. 

Milvey, Mrs. Margaretta, 471. 

Milvey, Rev. Frank, 472. 

Mim, 493. 

Mindiug-school, 479, 

Minerva House, 10. 

Minns, Augustus, 9. 

Misplaced Attachment of Mb. Johm 

DouNCE, The, 6. 
Miss Evans and the Eagle, 6. 
Mistaken Milliner, The, 7. 
Misty, Mr. X., 120. 
Misty, Mr. X. X., 120. 
Mith, Sergeant, 531, 
Mitts, Mrs., 422. 
Mivins, Mr., 37. 
Mobbs, 133. 

Moddle, Augustus, 226. 
Molly, 434. 
Moloch, 289. 
Monflathers, Miss, 172, 
Monks, 102. 
Monseigneur, 411. 
Montague, Tigg. See Tigg, Montague, 

226. 
Mooney, 346. 
Mooney, Mr., 542. 

" More, Please, sir, I want some," 114- 
Morfin, Mr., 275. 
Morgan-ap-Kerrig, 354. 
Mortair, Mr., 120. 
Mould, Mr., 226. 
Mould, Mrs.. 226. 
Mould,Thetwo Miss, 226, 
Mouse, 285. 
Mowcher, Miss, 312. 
Mrs. Barlow, 510. 
Mr. FJ^ Aunt, 390. 
Mr. Minns and his Cousin, 9. 
Mr. The Englishman, 450. 
Mr. Waller's Watch, 161. 
Mrs. Joseph Porjer, 14. 
Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy, 458. 
Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings, 452. 
" Muddle, It 's a' a," 369. 
Muddlebrains, Mr., 120. 
Mudfog, 118, 539. ^ 
MuDFOG Association, 118. 
Mudfog Hall, 536. 
Mudge, Jonas, 37. 
Muff, Professor, 120. 
Mugby Junction, 498. 
Muggleton, 87. 
Mull, Professor, 121. 
MuUins, Jack, 472. 
MuUit, Professor, 226. 
Murderer, Captain, 422. 
Murdstone, Edward, 312. 
Murdstone. Jane, 313. 
Mutanhed, Lord, 37. 
Mutuel, Monsieur, 451. 
Muzzle, Mr.»S8. 
Mystery of Edwin Drood, 512. 

Nadgett, Mr., 226. 

Namby, Mr., 38. 

Namelesston, 510. 

Nan, 422. 

Nancy, 103. 

Nandy, John Edward, 390. 



Ql^eneral Sntiep. 



567 



National Hotel, 223. 

Native, The, 275. 

" Nature and Heart," 281. 

Neckett, Charlotte. 348. 

Neckett, Emma, 347. 

Neckett, Mr., 347. 

Neckett, Tom, 347. 

Neddy, 38. 

Nell, Little, 185. 

Neeshawts, Doctor, 121. 

Nemo. See Hawdon, Captain, 347. 

Nettingall, The MisscB, 313. 

Newcome, Clemency, 257. 

New Thermopylae, 246. 

New Uncommercial Samples, 510. 

New Year, The, 6. 

"New- York Rowdy Journal, The," 217, 

223. 
Nicholas, 5. 

Nicholas Nickleby, 124. 
Nickleby, Godfrey. 133. 
Nickleby, Kate, 135. 
Nickleby, Mrs., 135. 
Nickleby, Nicholas, the elder, 133. 
Nickleby, Nicholas, the younger, 133. 
Nickleby, Ralph, 134. 
Nimrod Club, 18. 
Niner, Margaret, 418. 
Nipper, Susan, 275. 
Noakes, Mr., 121. 
Noakes, Mrs., 536. 
Noakes, Percy, 13. 
Nockemorf, 69. 
Noddy, Mr., 38. 
Nobody, 529. 
Nobody's Story, 629. 
Nogo, Professor, 121. 
Noggs, Newman, 137, 
Norah, 374. 
Norris, Mr., 226. 
Norris, Mrs., 226. 
Norris, The two Misses, 227. 
Norton, Squire, 637 
Norwood. 282. 

*' Note of, "When found, make a," 265. 
Nubbles, Christopher, or Kit, 172. 
Nubbles, Jacob, 172. 
Nubbles, Mrs., 172. 
Nuns' House, 524. 
Nupkins, George, 38. 
Nupkins, Henrietta, 42. 
Nupkins, Mrs., 42. 
Nutmeg-Grater Inn, 258. 

Oak Lodge, 12. 

O'Bleary, Frederick, 9. 

Ode to an Expiring Frog, 28. 

Oldcastle, 118. 

Old Curiosity Shop, 164. 

Old Hell Shaft, 363. 

Old Mint, The, 532. 

Old Soldier, The. 5^eeMarkleham, Mrs., 

313. 
Oliver Twist, 90. 
Omer. Minnie, 313. 
Omer, Mr., 313. 
On an Amateur Beat, 511. 
On Duty with Inspector Field, 532. 
Onowenever, Mrs., 422. 
Orange, James, 505. 

47* 



Orange, Mrs., 505. 

Original Pig, 118. 

Orlick, Dolge, 434. 

Our English Watering-Place, 528. 

Our French Watering-Place, 528. 

Our. Honorable Friend, 533. 

Our Mutual Friend, 460. 

Our Next-Door Neighbor, 3. 

Our School, 534. 

Our Vestry, 534. 

Out of the Season, 529. 

Out of Town, 529. 

" Overhaul your catechism," 285. 

Overton, Joseph, 14. 

Overton, Owen, 536, 

Owen, John, 175. 

Pancks, Mr., 390. 

Pangloss, 423. 

Pankey, Miss, 275. 

Pantomime of Life, The, 540. 

" Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, and 
prism," 386. 

Paragon, Mary Anne, 313. 

Pardiggle, Alfred, 347. 

Pardiggle, Egbert, 347. 

Pardiggle, Felix, 347. 

Pardiggle, Francis, 347. 

Pard4ggle, Mrs., 347. 

Pardiggle, O. A., 347. 

Pardiggle, Oswald, 347. 

Parker, 532. 

Parker, Mrs. Johnson, 3. 

Parkes, Phil, 201. 

Parkins, Mrs.. 529. 

Parkle, Mr., 423. 

Parliamentary Sketch, A, 5. 

Parlor Orator, The, 6. 

Parsons, Laetltia, 10. 

Parsons, Mrs. Fanny, 15. 

Parsons, Gabriel, 15. 

Passage, A, in the Life op Mr. 
"Watkins Tottle, 15. 

Passnidge, Mr., 313. 

Patriarch, The. See Casby, Chris- 
topher, 379. 

Patriarchs, The Last of the. See Casby, 
Christopher, 384. 

Paul, Little. See Dombey, Little Paul, 
275. 

Pavilionstone, 529. 

Pawkins, Major, 227. 

Pawkins, Mrs., 227. 

Pawnbroker's Shop, The, 5. 

Payne, Doctor, 42. 

Pea, or Peacoat, 533. 

Peacock, The, 20. 

Peak, 201, 

Pecksniff, Charity, 229. 

Pecksniff, Mercy, 230. 

Pecksniff, Seth, 227. 

Peecher, Emma, 472. 

Peel, Sir Robert. 229. 

Pecpy, Hon. Miss, 526. 

Pcerybingle, John, 253. 

Peerybiiigle, Mary, 253. 

Pegasus' Arms, 367. 

Peggotty, Clara, 313. 

Peggotty, Daniel, 314. 

Peggotty, Ham, 316. 



568 



©1)0 31BCcfeen» 3Bfctfonar2. 



Pegler, Mrs., 368. 

Peggy, 505. 

Pell, Solomon, 42. 

Peplow, Master, 3. 

Peplow, Mrs., 3. 

Pepper, 434. 

Peps, Doctor Parker, 275. 

Perch, Mr., 276. 

Perch, Mrs., 276. 

Perker, Mr., 42. 

Perkins, Mrs., 347. 

Perkinsop, Mary Anne, 454. 

Peruvian Mines, 276. 

Pessell, Mr., 121. 

Pet. See Meagles, Minnie, 389, 

Peter, Lord, 14, 536. 

Petowker, Henrietta, 138. 

Phenomenon, The Infant, 128. 

Phib, 138. 

Phibbs, Mr., 531. 

Phil, 534. 

Phiz, 18. 

Phoebe, 138, 497. 

Phunkey, Mr., 42. 

Pickles, 505. 

Pickleson, 493. 

Pickwick Papers, 18. 

Pickwick, Samuel, 42, 159, 643. 

Pidger, Mr., 318. 

Pierce, Captain. 525. 

Pierce, Mary, 525. 

Pift*, Miss, 499. 

Pig and Tinder-Box, 118. 

Pigeon, Thomas, 531. 

Pilkins, Mr., 276. 

Pinch, Ruth, ^0. 

Pinch, Tom, 230. 

Pip. See Pirrip, Philip, 434. 

Pip, Mr., 231. 

Pipchin, Mrs., 276. 

Piper, Mrs , ^47. 

Piper, Professor, 231, 

Pipkin, Mr., 121. 

Pipkin, Nathaniel, 68. 

Pirrip, Philip, 434. 

Pitt, Jane, 528. 

Plashwater "Weir Mill, 477. 

Plornish, Mr., 392. 

Plornish, Mrs., 392. 

Pluck, Mr.. 138. 

Pluramer, Bertha, 253. 

Plummer, Caleb, 253. 

riummer, Edward, 254. 

Pocket, Alick, 438. 

I'ocket, Belinda, 439. 

Pocket, Fanny, 439. 

Pocket, Herbert, 436. 

Pocket, Jane, 439. 

Pocket, Joe, 439. 

Pocket, Matthew, 439. 

Pocket, Sarah, 440. 

Pocket-Breaches, 480. 

Podder, Mr., 68. 

Poddies, 474. 

Podgers, John, 160. 

Pod's End, 367. 

Podsnap, Georgiana, 472, 

Podsnap, John, 473. 

Podsnap, Mrs., 474. 

Podsnappery, 474. 



Pogram, Hon. Elijah, 231. 

Polly, 497. 

Poodles, 510, 511. 

Poor Man's Tale of a Patent A. 

530. 
Poor Relation's Stobt, 527. 
Poplar "Walk, 9. 
Portable Property, 443. 
Porter, Captain, 301. 
Porter, Emily, 15. 
Porter, Mrs. Joseph, 15, 
Port Middlebay, 303. 
Potkins, "William, 440, 
Pott, Mr., 68, 
Pott, Mrs., 68. 
Potter, Thomas, 7. 
Potterson, Abbey, 474, 
Potterson, Job, 475. 
Pratchett, Mrs., 451. 
'Prentice Knights, 202. 
Price, Matilda, 138. 
Price, Mr., 6S. 
Prig, Betsey, 232. 
Prince Bcll, 533. 
Princess's Place, 259. 
Priscilla, 347. 

Prison Sheep. See Pross, Solomon, 411 
Prisoner's Van, The, 8. 
Private Theatres, 4. 
Prodgit. Mrs., 527. 
Prosee, Mr., 121. 
Pross, Miss, 411. 
Pross, Solomon, 411. 
Provis. See Magwitch, Abel, 433. 
Pruffle, 68. 

" Prunes and prism," 386. 
Public Life of Mr. Tulrdmble. 639. 
Pubsey & Co., 475. 
Pugstyles, Mr., 138. 
Pumblechook, Uncle, 440. 
PumpkinskuU, Professor, 121. 
Pupker, Sir Matthew, 138. 
Purblind, Mr., 121. 
Purday, Captain, 2. 
Pyke, Mr., 138. 

Quale, Mr., 348. 
Queerspeck, Professor, 121, 
Quickear, 423. 
Quilp, Betsey, 178. 
Quilp. Daniel, 175. 
Quinch, Mrs., 423. 
Quinion, Mr., 317. 

Rachael, 368. 

Rachael, Mrs,, 348. 

Raddle, Mr., 68. 

Raddle, Mrs. Mary Ann, 68, 

Rainbird, Alice, 505. 

Rairyganoo, Sally, 459. 

«' Rampage, On the," 429. 

Rats' Castle, 532. 

Recruiting Sergeant, 201, 

Redburn, Jack, 160. 

Redforth, Lieutenant-Colonel Robln,506 

Redlaw, Mr. 284. 

Refractory, Chief, 423. 

Refractory, Number Two, 423. 

Reprinted Pieces, 525. 

Reynolds, Miss, 522. 



General KnUej:. 



569 



Rlah, Mr., 475. 

Ricketts, Mias, 522. 

Richard, 250. 

Richards. Sse Toodle, Polly, 276. 

Riderhood, Pleasant, 476. 

Riderhood, Roger, or Rogue, 477. 

Rigaud, 392. 

Rinaldo di Velasco. See Pickleson, 493. 

Ripper, 219. 

River, The. 4. 

Rob the Grinder. See Toodle, Robin, 

276. 
Robert, Uncle, 5. 
Robinson, 9. 
Robinson, Mr., 2. 

Rodolph, Mr. and Mrs. Jenninga, 7. 
Rogers, 533. 
Rogers, Mr., 6, 525. 
Rogers, Mrs., 68. 
Roker, Tom, 68. 
Rokesmith, John. See Harmon, John, 

467. 
Rokesmith, Mrs. John. See Wilfer, 

Bella, 485. 
Rosa, 348. 
Rose, 538. 

Rosebud. See Bud, Rosa, 515. 
Rose Villa, Clapham Rise, 15. 
Rosy, The, 184. 
Rouncewell, George, 348. 
Rouncewell, Mr., 348. 
Rouncewell, Mrs., 348. 
Rouncewell, Wiatt, 348. 
" Rowdy Journal, The," 217, 223. 
" Royal Skewer, The," 122. 
Rudge, Barnaby, 201. 
Rudge, Mr., 202. 
Rudge, Mrs., 202. 
Rugg, Anastasia, 393. 
Rugg, Mr., 393. 
Runimun, Professor, 122. 
Rustic Lodge, 538. 

Saggers, Mrs., 423. 

St. Evremonde, Charles, 412. 

St. Evremonde, Marquis, 411, 412. 

St. Evremonde, Marquise, 412. 

St. Evremonde. Lucie, 412. 

St. James's Arms, 536. 

St. Julian, Mr. Horatio. See Larklns, 

Jem, 4. 
Salcy, P., Family, 423. 
Salem House, 297. 
Sally, 4. 
Sally, Old, 103. 
Salwanners, The, 204. 
Sam, 68. 

Sampson, George, 477. 
Sampson, Mr., 418. 
Sanders, Susannah, 68. 
Sapsea, Thomas, 522. 
Saracen's Head, 89. 
Sarah, 4. 
Satis House, 4.31. 
Saunders, Mr., 154. 
Sawyer, Bob, 69. 
Bcadder, Zephaniah, 236. 
Scadgers, Lady, 368. 
Scaley, Mr., 138. 
Bchoolboy's Storv, The, 628. 



Schutz,Mr.,525. 

Scorpion, The, 505. 

Scott, Tom, 178. 

" Screw, The," 222. 

Scroo, Mr., 122. 

Scrooge, Ebenezer, 211. 

Sentiment, 10. 

Seraphina, 455. 

Setting Moon, The, 631. 

Seven Dials, 4. 

Seven Poor Travellers, 371. 

Sexton, The Old, 178. 

Sharp, Mr., 317. 

Sharpeye, 423. 

Shepherd, Miss, 317. 

Shepherd, The. See Stiggins, Rev. 
Mr., 69. 

Shepherdson, Mr., 531. 

Short. See Harris, Mr., 178. 

Shoulder to the wheel, Putting the, 353. 

Shropshire, The Man from. See Grid- 
ley, Mr., 338. 

Sikes, Bill, 103. 

Silverman, George, 508. 

Simmery, Frank, 69. 

Simmons, 2. 

Simmons, Henrietta, 178. 

Simmons, Miss, 138. 

Simmons, William, 237. 

Simpson, Mr., 9, 69. 

Single Gentleman, The, 178. 

Six Jolly Fellowship Porters, 474. 

Sketches by Boz, 1. 

Sketches of Young Coupu's, 154. 

Skettles, Barnet, junior, 277. 

Skettles, Lady, 276. 

Skettles, Sir Barnet, 276. 

Skewton, Hon. Mrs., 277. 

Skiffins, Miss, 442. 

Skimpin, Mr., 69. 

Skimpole, Arethusa, 348. 

Skimpole, Harold, 348. 

Skimpole, Kitty, 350. 

Skimpole, Laura, 350. 

Skimpole, Mrs.. 349. 

Slackbridge, 368. 

Slamjam Coftee House, 450. 

Slammer, Doctor, 69. 

Slaughter, Lieutenant, 11. 

Sleary, Josephine, 368. 

Sleary, Mr., 368. 

Sliderskew, Peg, 138. 

Slinkton, Julius, 418. 

Slithers, Mr., 160. 

Sliverstone, Mr., 155. 

Sliverstone, Mrs., 155. 

Sloppy, 478. 

Slowboy, Tilly, 255. 

*' Slow Coaches," 228. 

Sludberry, Thomas, 4. 

Sluffen, Mr., 5. 

Slug, Mr., 122. 

Slum, Mr., 178. 

Slumkey, Hon. Samuel, 75. 

Slurk, Mr.,75. 

Slyme, Chevy, 237. 

Small Star, A, in the E^ »• l*P 

Smallwced, Bartholomew, 3.5t», 

Smallweed, Grandfather, 350. 

Smallweed, Grandmother, 350. 



570 



Sr|)e DBfcltens Bfctfonavs* 



Sniall\reed. Judy, 360. 

Smangle, Mr., 75. 

Smart, Tom, 75. 

Smauker, John, 75. 

Bmif, Putnam, 237. 

Smiggere, Joseph, 75. 

Smike. 138. 

"Smile, In came Mrs. Fezzlwlg, one 
vast substantial," 210. 

Smith, Mr., 5,122. 

Smithers, Emily, 10. 

Smithers, Miss, 75. 

Smithers, Robert, 7. ■<» 

Smithie, The Misses, 75. 

Smithie, Mrs., 75. 

Smithie, Mr., 75. 

Smorltork, Count, 75. 

Smouch, Mr., 75. 

Smuggins, Mr., 3. 

Snagsby, Mr., 350. 

Snagsby, Mrs., 351. 

Snap, Betsey, 528. 

Snawley, Mrs., 139. 

Snawley, Mr., 139. 

Snevelhcci, Miss, 139. 

Snevellicci, Mr., 139. 

Sneveliicci, Mrs., 139. 

Snewkes, Mr., 139. 

Sniff, Mr., 499. 

Sniff, Mrs., 499. 

Snigsworth, Lord, 478. 

Sniggs, Mr., 539. 

Snipe, Hon. Wilmot, 78. 

Snitchey, Jonathan, 257. 

Snitchey, Mrs., 257. 

Snivey, Sir Hookham, 122. 

Snobb, Hon. Mr., 139. 

Snodgrass, Augustus, 78. 

Snore, Professor, 122. 

Snubbin, Serjeant. 76. 

Snuffletoffle, Mr. O. J., 122. 

Snuphanuph, Lady, 76. 

Social Linen Box Committee, 847. 

Soemup, Doctor, 122. 

Sol's Arms, The, 334. 

Somebody's Luggage, 449. 

Some Uncollected Pieces, 635. 

'' Son and Heir, The," 262. 

Sophia, 238, 442. 

Sophy, 455, 494. 

Southcote, Mrs., 828. 

Southcote, Mr., 526. 

Sowerberry, Mrs., 113. 

Sowerberry, Mr., 113. 

Sownds, Mr., 277. 

So water, 122. 

Sparkins, Horatio, 12. 

Sparkler, Edmund, 393. 

bparkler, Mrs. Edmund. See Dorrit, 
Fanny, 382. 

Sparks, Tom, 536. 

Sparsit. Mrs., 368. 

Spatter, John, 528. 

Specks, Joe, 423. 

Specks, Mrs, 423. 

Speculations on the Source of the 
Hampstead Ponds, with some Ob- 
servations on the Theory of Tittle- 
bats, 42. 
gpenlow, Clarissa, 317. 



Spenlow, Dora, 318, 544. 

Spenlow, Francis, 318. 

Spenlow, Lavinia, 318. 

Sphynx, Sophronia. See Marchioness, 

The, 178. 
Spider, The. See Drummle, Bentley^ 

426. 
Spiker, Henry, 318. 
Spiker, Mrs. Henry, 318. 
Spottletoe, Mr., 238. 
Spottletoe, Mrs., 238. 
Sprodgkin, Mrs., 478. 
Spruggins, Mrs., 3. 
Spruggins, Thomas, 2. 
Squeers, Fanny, 147. 
Squeers, Master "Wackford, 147. 
Squeers, Mrs., 147. 
Squeers, Wackford, 139. 
Squires, Olympia, 423. 
Squod, Phil, 351. 
Stables, Hon. Bob, 351. 
Stag^, 202. 

Staggs's Gardens, 280. l- v 

Stalker, Mr. Inspector, 531. " 
Staple, Mr., 76. 
Stareleigh, Justice, 76. 
Starling, Mrs., 154. 
Startop, Mr., 442. 
Steam Excursion, The, 12. 
Steerforth, James, 318. 
Steerforth, Mrs., 321. 
Stiffun's Acre, 535. 
Stiggins, Rev. Mr., 7ij. 
Stiltstalking, Lord Lancaster, 394. 
Stokes, Mr. Martin, 5:^8. 
Stone Lodge, 365. 
Strange Gentleman. The, 635. 
Strange Gentleman, The, .536. 
Straudenheim, 424. 
Straw, Sergeant, 531. 
Streets, The. — J^ight, 3. 
Strong, Annie, 322. 
Strong. Doctor, 321. 
Struggles, Mr., 76. 
Stryver, Mr., 412. 
Stuart, Lord Dudley Coutts, 420. 
Stubbs, Mrs., 13. 
Styles, Mr., 122. 
Summerson, Esther, 351. 
Superannuated Widows, 347. 
Suturb, 226. 

Sweedlepipe, Paul, or Poll, 238. 
Sweeney, Mrs., 424. 
Sweet William, 179. 
Swidger, George, 288. 
Swidger, Milly, 288. 
Swidger, Philip, 288. 
Swidger, William, 288. 
Swillenhausen, Baron von, 147. 
Swillenhausen, Baroness von, 147. 
Swills, Little, 352. 
Swiveller, Dick, 179. 
Swoshle, Mrs. Henry Georg© Alftred. 

nee Tapkins, 478. 
Swosser, Captain, 333. 
Sylvia, 509. 

Tacker, 238. 
Tackleton, 255. 
Tadger, Brother, 77. 



ffienetal finljer. 



571 



•' Take care of him : he bites," 329. 

Tale of Two Cities, 400. 

Tamaroo, 238. 

Tangle, Mr., 352. 

Tape, 533. 

Tapkins, Antonia, 478. 

Tapkins, Euphemla, 478. 

Tapkins, Felix, 538. 

Tapkins, Frederica, 478. 

Tapkins, Miss, 478. 

Tapkins, Malvina, 478. 

Tapkins, Mrs., 478. 

Tapley, Mark, 239. 

Tappertit, Simon, 202. 

Tappleton, Lieutenant, 77. 

Tartar, Bob, 529. 

Tartar, Lieutenant, 524. 

Tatham, Mrs., 5. 

Talt, Mr., 531. 

Tatty CO ram. See Beadle, Harriet, 379. 

Taunton, Captain, 372. 

Taunton, Emily, 13. 

Taunton, Mrs., 13, 372. 

Taunton, Sophia, 13. 

Taunton, Vale of, 353. 

Tellson and Company, 412. 

Temeraire, The, 510. 

Testator, Mr., 424. 

Tetterby, Adolphus, 288. 

Tetterby, 'Dolphus, 288. 

Tetterby, Johnny, 289. 

Tetterby, Sally, 289. 

Tetterby, Sophia, 288. 

Theophile, Corporal, 451. 

Thingummy, Mrs., 113. 

Thomas, 14, 352. 

Thompson, Tally-ho, 531 

Thorn of Anxiety, The, 514. 

Thoughts about People, 5. 

Three Cripples, The 91, 116. 

Three " Detective" Anecdotes, 531. 

Three Jolly Bargemen, The. See Jolly 

Bai-gemen, The, 434. 
Tibbs, Mr., 9. 
Tibbs, Mrs., 9. 
Ticket, Mrs., 394. 
Tickle, Mr., 122. 
Tickler, 219, 430. 
" Tide, Going out with the," 293. 
Tiddypot, Mr., 534. 
Tiffy, Mr., 322. 
Tigg, Montague, 242. 
Timbered, Mr., 122. 
Timberry, Snittle, 147. 
Timson, Kev. Charles, 16. 
Tiny Tim. See Cratchit, Tim, 215. 
Tinkler, 394. 
Tinkling, William, 506. 
Tip. See Dorrit, Edward, 382. 
Tipkisson, 533. 
Tipp, 322. 
Tippin, Master, 11. 
Tippin, Miss, 11. 
Tippin, Mr., 11. 
Tippin, Mrs., 11. 
Tippins, Lady, 479. 
Tisher, Mrs., 524. 
Tittlebats, Observations on the Theory 

of, 42. 
Tix, Tom, 147. 



Tockahoopo Indians, 347. 

Toddles, 479. 

Toddyhigh, Joe, 160. 

Todgers, Mrs. M., 243. 

Tom, 17, 148, 413, 506. 

Tom, Honest, 5. 

Tom, Uncle. See Balderstone, Thomas, 

14. 
Tom-all-Alone's, 366, 358. 
Tomkins, 148. 
Tomkins, Alfred, 9. 
Tomkins, Charles, 536. 
Tomkins, Miss, 77. 
Tomlinson, Mrs., 77. 
Tommy, 6, 77. 
Toodle, Mr., 277. 
Toodle, Polly, 277. 
Toodle, Robin, 277. 
Toorell, Doctor, 123. 
Tootle, Tom, 479. 
Toots, Mr. P., 277. 

Toots, Mrs. See Nipper, Susan, 279. 
Tope, Mr. 524. 
Tope, Mrs., 524. 
Topper, Mr., 215. 
Toppit, Miss, 243. 
Tottle, Watkins, 16. 
" Tough, sir, — tough, and de-villsh 

sly I "259. 
Toughey. See Jo, 343, 
Towlinson, Thomas, 279. 
Tox, Lucretia, 279. 
Tozer, 279. 
Trabb, Mr., 442. 
Traddles, Thomas, 322, 545. 
Trampfoot, 424. 
Travellers' Twopenny, 516. 
Trent, Frederick, 185. 
Trent, Little Nell, 185. 
Tresham, 497. 

" Tricks, I know their," 465. 
Trimmers, Mr., 148. 
Trinkle, Mr., 532. 
Trott, Mr. Alexander, 14. 
Trott, Walker, 536. 
Trotter, Job, 77. 
Trotters. See Harris, Mr., 190. 
Trotwood, Miss Betsey, 324. 
Trotwood, Husband of Miss Betsey, 327. 
Trotty. ^^^-e Veck, Toby, 250. 
Truck, Mr., 123. 
Trundle, Mr., 77. 
Tucket's Terrace, 534. 
Tuckle, 77. 
Tugby, 250. 
TUGGSES AT RAMSGATE, ThE, 11. 

Tuggs, Charlotte, 11. 

Tuggs, Joseph, 11. 

Tuggs, Mrs., 11. 

Tuggs, Simon, 11. • 

Tulkinghorn, Mr., 352. 

Tulrumble, Mrs., 539. 

Tulrumble, Nicholas, 539. 

Tulrumble, Nicholas, junior, 540. 

Tungay, 327. 

TupmarJ, Tracy, 77. 

Tupple, Mr., 6. 

" Turn up, Waiting for something to,'' 

303. 
Turveydrop, Mr., 352. 



572 



El^e IPfcfeens ©ictionacg. 



Turveydrop, Prince, 353. 
Tweralow, Melvin, 479. 
Twigger, Edwai-d, 540. 
Twigger, Mrs., 540. 
Twinkleton, Miss, 524. 
Twist, Oliver, 113. 
Two Ghost Stories, 500. 
Tyrolean flower-act, The, 368. 

"Umble, I'm very," 300. 

Umbugology, 119. 

Uncle Tom. See Balderstone, Thomas- 
14. 

Uncommercial TraveI/Ler, 419. 

United Aggregate Tribunal, 363. 

United Bull-Dogs, 202. 

United Grand Junction Ebenezer Tern* 
perance Association, 27. 

United Grand Junction Lirriper and 
Jackman Great Norfolk Parlor Line, 
458. 

United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muf- 
fin and Crumpet Baking and Punc- 
tual Delivery Company, 125. 

Upwitch, Richard, 77. 

Vale of Taunton, The, 353. 

Valiant Soldier, The, 186. 

Varden, Doily, 203. 

Varden, Gabriel, 203. 

Varden, Martha, 203. 

VAuxHALii Gardens bt Day, 4. 

Veck, Meg, 230. 

Veck, Toby, 250. 

Velasco, Rinaldo di. SeePickleson, 493. 

Veneering, Anastasia, 480. 

Veneering, Hamilton, 479. 

Vengeance, The, 413. 

Ventriloquist, Monsieur the, 424. 

Venus, Mr., 480. 

Verbo8ity,-533. 

Verisoplit, Lord Frederick, 148. 

Vholes, Mr., 353. 

Victualler, Mr. Licensed, 424. 

Village Coquettes, The, 537. 

"Volatile," 312. 

Vuflin, 190. 

Wackles, Jane, 190. 

"Wackles, Melissa, 190. 

Wackles, Mrs., 191. 

Wackles, Sophy, 191. 

Wackley, Mr.,424. 

Wade, Miss, 394. 

Wnghorn, Mr., 123. 

Wainewright, Thomas GriflBths, 418. 

Waldengarver, Mr. See Wopsle, Mr., 

445. 
W.akley, Mr., 424. 
Walker, Mick, 328. 
Walker, Mr., 16. 
Walker, Mrs., 3. 

Walmers, Master Harry, junior, 374. 
Walmers, Mr. Henry, 375. 
Walter, Edward M'Neville. See Butler, 

Theodosius, 10. 
Warden, Michael, 257. 
Wardle, Emily, 77. 
Wardle, Isabella, 77. 
Wardle, Mr., 77. 



Wardle, Mrs., 78. 

Wardle, Rachael, 77. 

Warden, 17. 

Warden, Mary, 17. 

Warden, William, 17. 

Warren, The, 199. 

Warwick, The Earl of, 633. 

Watch, Mr. Weller's, 161. 

Waterbrook, Mr., 328. 

Waterbrook, Mrs., 328. 

Waterloo, 533. 

Watertoast Association of United Syia> 

pathizers, 219. 
Waters, Captain Walter, 11. 
Waters, Belinda, 11. 
Watkins the First, King, 506. 
Watty, Mr., 78. 
Weathercock, Janus, 418. 
Wedgington, Master B., 530. 
Wedgington, Mrs. B., 530. 
Wedgington, Mr. B., 529. 
Weedle, Anastasia, 424. 
Weevle, Mr. See Jobling, Tony, 345. 
Wegg, Silas, 482. 
Weller, Sam, 78, 160. 
Weller, Susan, 86. 
Weller, Tony, 84, 161. 
Weller, Tony, the younger, 162. 
Wommick, John, 443. 
Wemmick, Mr., senior, 444. 
Wemmick.Mrs. <!>'eeSkiiti.is, Miss, 442. 
West, Dame, 191. 

Westgate House Establiohraent, 25. 
Westlock, John, 243. ,. ^ 

Westwood, Mr., 148. __ ^-' 
Wharton, Granville, 509. 
Wheel, Putting the Shoulder to the, SUZ. 
Wheezy, Professor, 123. 
" When found, make a note of," 265. 
Whiff, Miss, 499. 
Whiffers, 86. 

Whiffler, Mr. and Mrs., 154. 
Whimple, Mrs., 445. 
Whisker, 191. 
White, 506, 533. 
White Hart Inn, 87. 
White Horse Cellar, 22. 
Wickam, Mrs., 279. 
Wickfield, Agnes, 328. 
Wicktield, Mr., 328. 
Wicks, Mr., 86. 
Widger, Bobtail, 155. 
Widger, Lavinia, 155. 
Wield. Mr. Inspector, 531. 
Wigsby, Mr., 123, 534. 
Wild Huntsman of the North American 

Prairies, 363. 
Wilderness Walk, 534. 
Wilfcr, Bella, 485. 
Wilfer, Lavinia, 486. 
Wilfer, Reginald, 486. 
Wilfer, Mrs. Reginald, 486. 
Wilkingwater, 506. 
Wilkins, 86. 
Wilkins, Dick, 215. 
Wilkins, Samuel, 6. 
Willet, Joe, 204, 
Willet, John, 204, 
William, 3, 148, 328. 
William. See Potklns, William, 440. 



fflfeneral fintrej:. 



573 



William, Sweet. See Sweet William, 

191. 
Williams, 533. 
Williams, William, 487. 
Williamson, Mrs., 14. 
' WilUn'. Barkis is," 292. 
Willing Sophy, 455. 
Willis, Mr., 16. 
Willises, The four Miss, 2. 
Wilson, Caroline, 10. 
Wilson, Fanny, 537. 
Wilson, Mary, 537. 
Wilson, Mr., 15. 
Wiltshire, 424. 

" Wind, The, is in the east," S41. 
Winglebury Arms, 14. 
Winking Cnarley, 527. 
Winkle, Mr., senior, 86. 
Winkle, Nathaniel, 86. 
Wisbottle, Mr,, 9. 
Wisk, Miss, 354. 
Witchem, 531. 
Witherden, Mr., 191. 
Witherfield, MisB, 80. 
Withers, 279. 



Wititterly, Henry, 148. 

Wititterly, Julia, 148. 

Wobbler, Mr., 394. 

Wolf, Mr., 243. 

" Woman, A fine figure of a," 428. 

Woodcourt, Allan, 354. 

Woodcourt, Mrs., 354. 

Wooden Midshipman, The, 278, 544. 

Woodensconce, Mr., 123. 

Woolford, Miss, 4. 

Wopsle, Mr., 445. 

Wosky. Doctor, 9. 

Wozenham, Miss, 465, 459. 

Wrayburn, Eugene, 487. 

Wrayburn, Mrs. Eugene. See Hexam, 

Lizzie, 469. 
Wren , Jenny . See Cleaver, Fanny, 463i. 
Wugsby, Mrs. Colonel, 86. 

Tawler, 323. 

York, The five Sisters of, 149. 

Zamlel, 530. 

Zephyr, The. See Miving, Mr., 86. 



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